


The Continuing Story of Casien Yedlin, Or, How to Save The World through the Power of Love and Friendship

by ArtemisMoonsong



Series: The (Really and Truly Inspiring) Story of Casien Yedlin [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Action/Adventure, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Drama & Romance, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Romance, moot shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2019-07-25 07:15:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 130,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16192718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArtemisMoonsong/pseuds/ArtemisMoonsong
Summary: Three years ago, Casien Yedlin was abandoned by his aunt and uncle in the inhospitable city of Windhelm. Today, he has risen in the world, quite a bit more than he ever would have imagined: he is to be married to the (soon-to-be) High King of Skyrim.The moot looms in the distance, and Casien dreads having to reveal himself to the world even as he looks forward to seeing his Winterhold friends again. Will danger strike just when he thinks he might finally be happy?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, dear readers!! 
> 
> For those who are unaware, this is a continuation of my previous story, "The Slightly Tragic yet Very Inspiring Story of Casien Yedlin, Orphan, Scholar, and Mage." You will probably want to read that one first, but it's perfectly fine if you want to start here! 
> 
> Fear not! I am a fairly frequent updater (approx. every 1-2 weeks). Like most writers, I am excessively self-critical, and I thrive on the kudos and comments from my gentle readers ♥

_*beautiful art by[agaricals](http://agaricals.tumblr.com/) !! _  

* * *

I can almost always wake up when I want to.

This particular morning was no different. I suppose it wouldn’t be entirely fair to really call it ‘morning,’ for the sun hadn’t yet risen, and the room was swathed in darkness. The tiny, flickering flames of the fireplace painted little dancing shadows on the ceiling as I gazed up at it. Outside, I could hear the distant roar of the sea as the waves crashed against the stone walls of the castle. And beside me, a great big bear of a man snored softly, his chest gently rising and falling with each slow and even breath.

I watched him for a moment, trying to discern how deeply he slept. After a moment, the snoring stopped, and the fingers of one hand, which lay half-flung across my chest, began to twitch.

“Mmphrgh,” he said. “Strawberries.”

I smiled, trying very hard not to laugh.

“Strawberries?” I whispered back.

“Mmmnn,” he replied. Then he sighed, deeply, and his breathing evened out again.

I very slowly, oh-so-carefully, removed the arm lying heavily over my chest, laying it beside my lover’s slumbering form before sitting up with exaggerated slowness and doing my best to slip silently out of bed. My toes sank into one of many thick, soft rugs which lined the king’s entire apartment, muffling the perpetual cold seeping up from the stone beneath. I dressed as quietly as I could, pulling on smallclothes and trousers and shrugging into a long-sleeved tunic before grabbing my boots and hurrying out of the room.

I pulled the boots on once I was in the study and could afford to be a bit louder, then I made my way through the sitting room and carefully pushed open the outer door.

The guard standing post outside started when he saw me.

“You’re up early,” he said.

“Shh!” I hissed, laying my finger over my lips; he just rolled his eyes and re-crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the wall.

The castle was eerily quiet as I made my way through the main hallway of the third floor. I passed two more guards who were chatting lowly together; they did a double take as I went by.

“Up to no good?” said one. “No one awake this early is ever up to any good.”

“Yes,” I called over my shoulder. “I’m finally making my move. I’m going to rob the place blind!”

One of the guards started chuckling, though the other one asked, “Wait—is he being serious?”

“By the Nine, you’re an idiot,” replied the first, which earned her a rather scathing response from her companion.

I made a detour for the servant’s staircase, which I still liked to use, though the king disapproved and insisted that I stop. These led directly down to the main servants’ hallway, which wasn’t exactly empty, though very nearly so. Sleepy servants blinked curiously at me as I passed them. I was prone to roaming the castle, often paying very little heed to where I was and wasn’t technically supposed to be, so it was probably more the early hour than my actual presence that surprised them.

“There you are,” said Igor, as I entered the kitchen. “You’d best hurry up; we’re going to need the counter space soon.”

The kitchen was probably the one place already bustling with activity this early in the morning. The fires were already lit; undercooks stood kneading dough, making and canning preserves, or hurrying in and out on their way to and from the garden outside. Igor the Cook was probably also the only person who still treated me as if I were still a servant myself. Rather than annoy or offend me, I rather appreciated the complete and utter lack of deference—really, the absolute worst was when people actually _bowed_ to me, though this usually only happened upstairs when I encountered the wealthiest and most influential castle guests who no doubt saw me as an opportunity to potentially win favor with the jarl.

“I’ll be fast,” I said, hurrying over to the pantry and pulling out ingredients, “I promise. Ah—Igor, where’s the yeast again?!”

One of the assistant cooks came to my rescue, Igor apparently having decided that I wasn’t worth his notice any longer. Once I had my yeast, I got to work mixing ingredients, then I began kneading my newly formed dough. The assistant cook who had helped me _tsked_ and shook her head at me; I could have had her or one of the others do this, she said, and the king would have been none the wiser.

“But that’s the point,” I said, pausing to wipe the sweat from my brow with the back of my arm. “If someone else had done it, it would be just like every other morning. This time it’s special.”

At least that was the idea. The assistant cook snorted softly and muttered something about ‘young love,’ which I found to be highly inappropriate considering I was fully twenty years old and not some newly minted teenager pining over his unrequited beloved.

I shaped and covered the dough once I was done kneading it, laying it out on the counter under the large window alongside all the other far better formed loaves. I cleaned my mess up then and consciously did not meet the eyes of some of the kitchen workers who began trickling in now that the sun had risen. Several of my old co-workers were understandably jealous of how much I had risen in the world, though I don’t believe it was through any conscious effort on my part.

I had a few hours until I had to return to the kitchen, so I decided to use my time as studiously as possible and headed for the library. It was on the second floor, and at such an early hour, I would likely be the only one there. The only danger would be in falling back asleep if I wasn’t too careful—which is exactly what happened, after I’d settled into my favorite chair, my boots kicked off and feet curled up as I cradled the large tome in my lap. It was on ancient Skyrim political philosophy; I was trying to brush up on my knowledge in the area, and thought it wisest to start back as early as possible. But the subject matter was less than interesting, and before I knew it, my head had tilted back, my eyes had closed—

And Griselda, the head housekeeper, was shaking me awake.

“Mr. Yedlin,” she said, once I’d opened my eyes and blinked blearily up at her. “Igor says that if you don’t come and fetch your bread he shall throw it out at once.” She straightened, peering down at me. “I wouldn’t test him, so I’d best get a move on, if I were you.”

I leapt to my feet like a startled deer. The book was flung aside, my boots were pulled on, and soon I was tearing back downstairs, apologizing to the servants who hastily got out of my way.

“I’m here!” I cried, as I entered the kitchen. “Don’t throw it away!”

Igor only grunted at me before returning to his meal prep; meanwhile, I ran up to my freshly risen dough and got back to work. After slicing it into three sections, I folded cut up apples and sprinkled cinnamon into the first, pieces of chocolate into the second, and sliced almonds and bananas into the third. They were surely not the neatest turnovers which had ever been produced in this kitchen, but I had made them by my own hands and was quite proud. After slipping them into one of the ovens (all the while dodging out of the way of irritable-looking assistant cooks), I then perched myself onto a stool in the corner—no way was I going to leave my poor bread alone again to fend for itself.

“Slumming it with the servants this morning?” asked Jurgen, smirking as he entered the kitchen and noticed me, his hands lazily tying the apron behind his waist, for he had been promoted to undercook.

“Stop yapping and get to work!” snapped one of his superiors, so he rolled his eyes and dutifully decided to leave me alone.

I befriended a couple of the newest arrivals as I waited, two boys younger than myself who had been hired on as scullery workers. I gave them tips on how to do the quickest and neatest work but never at the expense of their own overtaxed energy or strength. They were friendly lads, one more so than the other, though I suspect the quieter one was merely shy. I hoped they were not fond of other boys, for I hated to think of someone like Jurgen preying on them as he once had done me. Not that I regret my own experiences, but the teasing that occurred afterward was always something which grated on my nerves to no end.

Once my turnovers were ready, I hopped off my stool and got to work on the rest of my creation. Finally, I plated everything: the three turnovers, several sizzling strips of bacon, sausage links, and a bowl of freshly sliced fruit. The pot of coffee and mugs were last, and as I added the second mug, it occurred to me belatedly that I hadn’t prepared anything for myself. My stomach grumbled in protest, but I sighed and hefted my tray; it was too late for that.

I made my way carefully back upstairs, once again taking the servants’ stairs, for I didn’t like the thought of anyone _important_ seeing me and guessing at my intentions. Back on the third floor, I did pass Galmar and his two daughters as they were heading down to the yard to train. Galmar snorted at me and even rolled his eyes, but the girls smiled, their eyes twinkling knowingly.

The soldier still standing by the door saw me approaching and graciously opened the door for me. I nodded my thanks, then made my way into the apartment. However, when I arrived in the bedroom, the bed was empty.

“No…” I said, the single word slipping from me unbidden, carrying with it all my crushed intentions.

“Is that for me?”

I whirled around and glared at the king, who had just stepped out of the washroom, his hair damp, a dark blue robe tied around his waist.

“Of course it’s for you!” I said. “What are you doing waking up so early? I’ve had this planned for weeks!”

Not true, but it sounded far more dramatic than ‘I’ve had this planned since yesterday.’

He started to smile, then seemed to reconsider.

“My apologies,” he said. “I awoke, and when I realized you had gone, I felt little need to linger in bed.”

I made a sad, groaning sort of sound which ended in a rather depressing sigh before going over to the bed to deposit my burden. I sat down beside the tray then and gazed morosely at my creation. All of that effort for nothing.

After a moment, my lover came to join me, sitting heavily back down on the mattress. I frowned at him, watching as he leaned back a little against the massive headboard, pulling the sheets and furs up to his waist. He looked at me then and made a little beckoning motion with one hand.

I grinned and, kicking off my boots, scooted further onto the bed before picking up the tray and settling it over his lap.

“Happy birthday,” I said.

“Mm,” came the noncommittal reply. “Who told you.”

“Lia. She said you were awfully shy about it and that you probably hadn’t even told me.”

“I am not shy,” he said. He picked up one of the turnovers, sniffing it before examining it. “You made this?”

“That one’s apples and cinnamon,” I said, trying to contain my pride. “The others are chocolate and bananas and almond.”

“They are… well-formed.”

“Thank you.”

He started to bite into it, but then he paused. He looked down at the tray and the rest of the food. Then he looked at me.

“Did you eat?” he asked.

“No,” I said quickly. “It’s fine though. I’m not hungry.”

Right on cue, my stomach gurgled loudly. I blame the bacon. I’ve been weak to it ever since becoming a regular occupant in these rooms. The college had rarely served it.

He arched an eyebrow at me.

“Fine,” I said, sighing. “I’m starving.”

He picked up the chocolate turnover and tried to hand it to me, but I naturally protested. I hadn’t slaved in the kitchen all morning just to eat the thing myself! When he offered to split each turnover in half, I protested yet again; that would leave him with hardly enough to start his day on, as he was a fairly hardy eater. Finally, and at this point visibly frustrated by my refusals, he broke off a third of each turnover and put the pieces on one of the plates, along with a few slices of bacon.

“Eat and stop complaining,” he said.

“Yes, my lord,” I said, and he frowned at me, so I stuck my tongue out at him.

We munched contently for a while; I took the time to study his features as we did, at least when he wasn’t looking, that is. His skin was still a bit red from his bath, and his damp hair was lank and dark, though it would be thick and yellow again once it dried. There were crinkles at the corners of his blue eyes, and his beard had a few gray hairs in them—he let it grow out a little more than usual, once he learned that I liked it.

“How does it feel to be 38?” I asked.

“Old,” came the reply.

I scoffed. “You aren’t _old_.” 

He slid his eyes towards me before biting into a piece of sausage, chewing, and swallowing.

“When I look at you, I feel old.”

“Hilarious,” I said, for I could see the crinkles at the corners of his eyes increasing, and knew that he was teasing me.

Once we were finished eating and had drained our mugs of coffee, I picked up the tray, removing it from his lap and setting it down further down the massive bed. But before he could throw the covers back and get back out of bed, I quickly shifted so that I straddled him, facing him while resting my hands on his broad shoulders.

“Casien,” he said, fixing me with a long-suffering look, though his hands were already resting on my thighs. “I am going to be late.”

“But it’s your birthday,” I replied. “You can’t leave without birthday sex.”

He apparently chose not to argue the point. Half an hour later, I was alone again, and though it would make me a tiny bit late for my first lesson, I decided to take a bath myself, even though I was usually an evening bather. By the time I had finished, gotten dressed, and made my way downstairs to the large room which had been set up for my schooling, it was half past ten. I didn’t really expect a scolding of any sort; no one really scolded me here anymore, with the possible exception of Galmar, Griselda, and I suppose Ulfric himself at times. But at least I scolded him back. I was still far too frightened of the other two.

I hardly expected my tutor to be anxious about my late arrival, and I was right. He was sitting in his chair, leaning back slightly, his feet propped up on his desk. His tail lay over one arm of the chair, twitching slightly, and he didn’t even look up as I entered.

“Good morning,” I said.

“You’re late,” he said, still without looking up. I tried to see what he was reading, but I couldn’t tell from this angle. He was always studying, though, and I often wondered why he had taken this position rather than remain at the college.

“Sorry,” I said.

He waved a scaly hand at me. “It’s fine. I’m busy anyway. We can practice ice spells tomorrow. Better yet, why don’t you go outside and practice them by yourself? Then come and tell me the results.”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, biting down on the urge to tell him what a lazy, good-for-nothing ass he really was. But he was Argonian, and I refused to have it become publicly known that the first Argonian allowed to work in the castle had been an absolutely terrible hire.

“Which spells?” I asked instead.

He frowned, finally looking up.

“I don’t know. The ones we were practicing yesterday. Or try some ice spikes.”

I felt my heart leap inadvertently into my chest, the image of Malyn Varen hurling such a spell at me jumping immediately to mind. I swallowed, doing my best to banish the thought.

“I don’t think I’m ready for that yet.”

He rolled his eyes. “So the snap freeze spell then. Bring me a branch with frozen leaves to prove you’ve done it.”

I nodded and turned to go. Honestly, there were days when Arum-Shei was a perfectly fine tutor; I had already perfected my fireball spell because of him, and I could aim a flame spell without singeing everything in the near vicinity, too. Ice spells were a bit harder for me; maybe it had something to do with my dislike of the cold. Magic could be funny like that.

But there were days like today, too, when he got caught up in his own studies and seemed to consider tutoring me nothing but a distraction from his own interests. I knew Ulfric would have been vastly enraged by his irreverent attitude towards me, too, but obviously that didn’t bother me. Not that I enjoyed how dismissive he was—but really, it was a common enough attitude for a master student to have towards an apprentice. And it was preferable to the bowing and scraping I sometimes occasionally received from other castle denizens or visitors. That sort of deference is always, _always_ false, calculated to cur favor, and I hate it with every fiber of my being.

I turned to do as instructed, reaching for a cloak and pausing to dig through a basket for some thick gloves, too, as it was still the middle of winter. I had tried to mimic Nelacar’s warming spell, but I clearly lacked Nirya’s natural abilities when it came to enchantments. If I tried to enchant a ring it would warm my hand, maybe my elbow, but nothing else. An amulet kept my neck nice and toasty. Trying to use wild magic had once resulted in my boots lighting on fire, so that was a no-go, too.

On my way out, I passed the row of bookshelves where he kept the books he had brought with him from Winterhold. I paused first to make sure he wasn’t looking, then slipped a textbook on destruction magic under my arm, pulling my cloak forward to hide it. It would take him some time to realize it was gone, so I could probably get a few days’ worth of studying out of it.

Outside, the high walls of the city protected its citizens from the worst of the wind, but it was still bitterly cold. I trudged past the guards on duty, both of them nodding at me as I did. The stone steps leading away from the palace were frozen over, so I took them carefully. It wasn’t snowing yet, but the air felt heavy with it. I sighed; I wouldn’t be able to stay outside for long, but it had already been a long enough winter, and it was ever so tedious, having to stay cooped up inside the castle all day and night. Spring, I thought, couldn’t come fast enough.

I decided to visit Helgird since I was already outside, and the Temple of Arkay wasn’t far from the palace. It was also in a very wealthy part of the city, and I passed more than one fur-collared noble individual. Some didn’t notice or recognize me and probably mistook me for yet another Dunmer servant busy running an errand, but those who did paused to plant a false smile on their face and offer me a deferential nod. I tried my best to hide my disgust and simply nodded back.

I knocked on Helgird’s door before letting myself in.

“Well, now, look who’s come to grace us with his illustrious presence,” said an old woman’s voice from the vicinity of the sitting area.

“Hello, Helgird,” I said, pausing to knock the ice and muck off my boots before entering.

Ullte, her assistant, was sitting beside her, both of them by the fire. Helgird was nursing a cup of tea while Ullte was busy sewing something. She was a prodigious sewer, and I imagine a vast improvement over my sorry attempts at providing assistance to the old priestess.

“Did you have breakfast?” asked Ullte politely.

I nodded. “I made it myself actually. It’s the king’s birthday.”

Helgird snorted. “Breakfast in bed, eh? My, but you are a romantic little thing. And how did he like it?”

“I think he liked it.”

I shook off my cloak, careful to lay it over the book, which I set down on the floor beside me—Helgird knew I was a mage but still distrusted magic as many Windhelm Nords did, so I tried not to wave it in front of her face. There were only two chairs in front of the fire, so I settled on the floor, leaning back against the side of the brick mantle.

Helgird cocked an eyebrow at me.

“You _think_ he liked it?”

Ullte smiled, her eyes darting from her sewing to me.

I sighed. They both knew me too well.

“Okay, fine. I thought he’d be more… I don’t know. Happy? Touched? But he just… sat there and _ate_ them. And then he wanted _me_ to eat them. His present! Made by my own hands!” I threw my own hands up in disgust, though it was mostly to hide the hurt eating away at my heart.

“Look at you. Same as ever.” Helgird shook her head at me. “He’s not a boy like you, you know. Now don’t give me that sour face; you know exactly what I mean. Your lover’s a man grown; he’s as sure of himself as you are unsure. And doubtless he had his mind on other things.”

“He _is_ the jarl after all,” said Ullte. “And soon to be High King.”

“I know all that,” I said. “It’s not that I think he doesn’t care about me. It’s just… he could have cared a _little_ more after everything I’d done.”

She barked out a laugh. “That, my boy, is all part of being in love. You say one little thing, and suddenly the other’s gone off completely. Before you know it, you’re both bickering like fools over nothing.”

“Did _you_ ever have someone, Helgird?” I asked her.

“Aye, several someone’s—no, not all at the same time, cheeky girl,” for Ullte had looked up with widened eyes at this supposed revelation.

“And? Tell me about them.”

“I most certainly will not. That was ages ago, and none of your business. But I’ll tell you this: it’s often more trouble than it’s worth. But when it _is_ worth it… Ha!”

“That’s a sex thing, isn’t it,” I said, wrinkling my nose and ignoring her cackling response. “What about you?” I asked, looking at Ullte. “Have you got anyone?”

She sighed. “I did. One of your Stormcloak guards, as a matter of fact.”

Stormcloaks were soldiers; the city guards were beholden to Windhelm. It was a minute difference, though, so I didn’t think it prudent to point it out. I doubt she would have appreciated it.

“What happened?”

“Heard he was sneaking out with some other girl,” she said, sniffing. “A Bosmer, if you can believe it! Pretty little thing.”

I didn’t think the race of her lover’s girl-on-the-side was necessarily relevant, but once again I chose to keep my mouth shut. I asked Helgird how ‘business’ was then, and if they had tended the graves this morning despite the bad weather. I wanted to know if anyone interesting had died, the answer being, not really, unless I considered a drowned dockworker, an elderly grandmother who had been on death’s door for months, and a soldier who’d taken an unfortunate tumble from her horse ‘interesting.’

Anyone else would have likely found our conversation macabre and dreadfully insensitive, but we three were likely the only three in the city who were so familiar with death that we could easily speak about it with calmness and ease and even joviality on occasion. It wasn’t that I didn’t respect the grief of those who had lost loved ones—I knew only too well what it was to both lose and fear losing the person most beloved to me. But living in the Hall of the Dead necessitated that one not be too squeamish about such things, so long as one were far enough removed from them.

After half an hour or so had passed, I said I ought to return to the castle and bid them both good-bye. On the way back, I plucked a snowberry branch from the garden of one of the wealthy merchants in town and tucked it into my belt.

I felt half-frozen by the time I returned to the castle, and since Arum-Shei had said I wasn’t to return until I’d managed to cast the spell properly, I went upstairs to the king’s apartment instead— _our_ apartment, I suppose I should say, though it was still hard to think of it like that, even after all these months. Once I shut the door behind me, I removed my boots in the sitting room and entered the study.

I pulled the snowberry branch from my belt and set it carefully on the edge of Ulfric’s desk.

In retrospect, I’ll admit that wasn’t the best idea.

My first attempt at the snap freeze spell froze all the papers on my lover’s desk. My heart leapt into my throat, and I immediately went into a panic. At first I gathered them and brought them to the fire, but then, as I held them up, the ice slowly dripping from the corners, I realized this would only result in soggy, illegible papers. I panicked further, and thought of a drying enchantment my other tutor had been practicing with me. I set the papers back on the desk, raised my right hand, focused—and set the corner of the desk on fire.

Ten minutes later, the fire had been successfully put out, thanks to an upturned recently watered potted plant. I cleaned the dirt off as best I could and winced at the darkened burnt wood beneath. The papers were now nothing but ash, and I could only hope that they hadn’t contained anything important.

Drowning in guilt but hopefully a little bit wiser, I went into the bathroom and set the branch in the bathtub. At least all my misfired attempts could be easily taken care of. After a great deal of practice and effort, I was able to freeze the branch, ice crystals instantly forming around each leaf and berry. I brought it down to Arum-Shei, who was predictably unimpressed and pronounced my lessons concluded for the day. Sighing, I then left to find the king, as it was nearly lunch time.

He generally took lunch in his downstairs office, what had previously served as the war room. Here he handled some of the more important paperwork and met with distinguished persons (“distinguished” usually on account of the power they wielded or the septums they had at their disposal). But as I made my way down the hallway, I was stopped by Lia, who was in the process of dragging her youngest, 13-year-old Nella, to her dancing lesson.

“I’m afraid they’ve gone out for the day,” she told me. “They’ve gone to inspect repairs to one of the nearby village’s defense walls. They won’t be back until this evening.”

“You should come and take dancing lessons with me, Casien,” said Nella, smiling hopefully at me.

“Nonsense,” said her mother. “ _You_ will attend to your lessons. Casien shall have lunch with me.”

We had lunch in the family dining hall, which was originally meant to be used by the jarl and his or her family, but Ulfric had given it up to Galmar and his family. He used to eat with them on occasion, she said, but as time went by he became more and more reclusive, and more often than not took lunch alone in his room—that is if he wasn’t too busy to take it at all, as he sometimes had been before the war.

“Of course, now that you are here, we do not worry about him so much,” she said.

“I wonder what happened. I mean, why did he stop coming, do you think?”

She shook her head. “I believe it pained him to see his friend starting a family. He was an only child who lost his mother at a young age, and his father perished in the war. They were not close, for I fear Ulfric was always standing in Hoag’s shadow.”

I nodded, understanding now why he never spoke of his parents.

“Does Nella really not enjoy her lessons?” I asked after a while. “She used to be so enthusiastic about everything.”

“She sees her elder sisters being groomed for their futures, and she chaffs at the restrictions I place on her. But she is young yet. And I do not think she dislikes her lessons as much as she claims. It was likely a ploy to get her favorite person—namely, you—to join her.”

“There really wouldn’t be any point in me taking dancing lessons anyway,” I said, resting my cheek on my palm as I stirred my stew about with my other hand. “The king doesn’t dance.”

“You will be married soon. There is no need for dancing.”

Dancing is part of courting, apparently—something a Dunmer servant never would have had need of, and now that I was more than a Dunmer servant, I had even less need of it. Of course, I immediately wondered if Ulfric had had to take lessons as a boy, and I confess the thought brought a smile to my face.

I snorted, thinking of what she had said.

“Am I _really_ Nella’s favorite person? She really needs to make friends her own age.”

“I disagree entirely. Girls her age are filled with nothing but nonsense until at _least_ the age of sixteen. And boys! No.” She shook her head. “Indeed, I encourage her to spend as much time with you as she can. So if you notice her following you around even more than usual, you’ll know who to blame.”

“Thanks,” I said, rolling my eyes.

After lunch, I made my way back to the so-called classroom. Arum-Shei was no longer present; my illusion and enchanting tutor, a young Redguard man named Baran was waiting for me instead. Unlike Arum-Shei, Baran was a far more dedicated teacher, though he was prone to sighing in exasperation when my efforts proved less than fruitful. That afternoon, I managed to cast a false shadow on the wall—it had to be of someone I knew quite intimately, so I naturally picked the king—and enchant a book to turn its own pages. The latter was far more difficult than one might imagine, as it required incredible finesse and concentration—hardly my fortes. As for the shadow, I was able to make it raise its hand, walk, and draw its sword before my concentration slipped, and it vanished into nothing. A magical theory book had also arrived from Winterhold, courtesy of Professor Neloren. Baran produced it once my lessons had concluded, a grin on his lips for he knew how it would please me.

I had a few hours until dinner to while away, so I returned to the apartment to begin reading my new textbook. Once upstairs, I was waylaid by Galmar and Lia’s third youngest daughter, 16-year-old Asgar, who said she had been instructed to tell me that the king wished myself and her eldest sister to dine with him and his guests at the high table tonight. I was startled by this, as dinner at the high table meant a business dinner, and on such nights I either ate in our rooms or with Lia and the family. When I asked if the king and her father had returned, she said that they had, but that they were busy in the yard.

I thanked her and wondered if this meant I would be expected to head downstairs by myself. The thought was a rather mortifying one. Would the guests—whoever they might be—be surprised to see a young Dunmer take a seat among them? And why was I essentially being ordered to do so in the first place?

The apartment had been cleaned, I noticed, as I entered and removed my boots. Griselda had a servant regularly pass through and change the sheets, tend the fireplaces, and just generally tidy up. When we had first returned from Winterhold I had returned to doing those things myself, but both the king and Griselda had protested, and so a servant was instructed to do it instead. Ulfric didn’t like this, but I said I would not stay in a dirty apartment, and so the compromise was accepted.

I lay out on the freshly made bed and tried to focus on my new book, but it was too hard. I was too nervous about tonight. Suppose I said something, betrayed my ignorance and my innocence and made Windhelm and the king look a fool before some no doubt very important people? 

In the end, I ended up falling asleep—testament to the early hour at which I had awoken this morning. I lifted my head, blinking fuzzily and peering up at the shadowy figure moving about the room. I blinked again, my vision clearing, and sat up, yawning as my book tumbled from my chest to the mattress.

“Do I really have to go to this dinner with you?” I asked, watching sleepily as the king busied himself dressing. He must have divested himself of his dirty outdoor things, and he had bathed again, his hair damp about his shoulders.

“Yes,” came the low, noncommittal reply.

I scratched through my hair, thinking in that moment that I’d much prefer skipping dinner altogether and just sleeping through the rest of the evening.

“Why?” I asked.

“Because you are my betrothed. People begin to wonder at your influence over me. Let them wonder no more.”

I frowned. “More politics.”

“You share the bed of a jarl. So, yes, politics.”

He sounded distracted and annoyed, and his wording put me off. I felt my frown deepen, a slight curl coming to my upper lip.

“Do you have to say it in such a vulgar fashion?” I muttered.

He paused, turning to look at me. After a moment, he left the pile of clothing he was sorting through—he was so terrible in his habits that despite the servant’s best efforts, I do believe he was looking for a clean shirt in a pile of clothing of indeterminable cleanliness—and came to sit beside me.

He was shirtless, and I couldn’t help staring at the ugly scar that ran across his left side. I frowned, laying my hand over it, feeling the raised skin bump against my fingertips.

He lay his large hand over mine.

“You are upset. Tell me what is bothering you.”

I shrugged. “I’m not upset.”

“Casien…”

I rolled my eyes. Sometimes I really hated how well he could read me. Then again, all of my friends seemed to possess this remarkably special ability, so perhaps the onus was on me to better conceal my emotions from my face. It would forever be a losing battle, I suspected.

“I just don’t understand why I have to act some part,” I eventually said. “I’m not a noble; I’m not even a Nord.”

“There is no law that says a jarl must marry a Nord.”

“I would marry you anyway, even if there were.”

“That would no doubt greatly complicate matters, but I would have expected no less from you.”

“Look, what I’m trying to say is—I’m a Dunmer, yes, and a commoner, to say the least. I’ve been a farmer, a servant, a mage—I don’t belong at the high table. I don’t _want_ to belong. I don’t have any experience in being a politician, and what if I say the wrong thing?”

“You will not.”

“How do you know?”

“In the time that I’ve known you, you have never once said ‘the wrong thing.’ You are clever, and thoughtful, and weigh your thoughts accordingly. Even when you think without speaking, you speak only the truth.”

“And that’s a _good_ thing?” I asked, trying not to blush at the blatant compliments he had just heaped upon me.

“It is an honorable thing. People should see that the jarl’s future husband is wise, clever, and good.”

I was _definitely_ blushing now.

“I’m not all of those things,” I said.

“Then you label me a liar, for I say that you are. Come,” he stood up, offering me his hand. “It is time for us to leave.”

I arched an eyebrow at him. “I won’t say _I’d_ mind the view much, but those fancy guests of yours might think twice about a king who doesn’t wear a shirt to dinner.”

He blinked and looked down at himself as if just remembering. Then he fixed me with a semi-annoyed look before resuming his search for a clean undertunic. I snorted and pulled open one of the armoire drawers where I knew the servant folded all his clean, pressed shirts. I selected a plain beige undertunic along with a deep blue wool tunic with gold trim and stitching and brought it over to him. He pulled them on without thought, running his hands absently through his drying hair afterward. A heavy jacket was next, as the main hall could get quite chilly during the dead of winter. Once he finished dressing completely, he turned to me.

“Are you ready?”

“Does it matter what I’m wearing?”

“I should think not.”

I sighed, trying to ignore the bad feeling in my stomach. “All right. Then I’m ready.”

On the way out, we passed through the study, and I glanced at the desk on instinct, biting my lip. I could see the burn mark from here, and the papers that had been scattered across the surface were now noticeably absent.

“I know better than to keep important documents up here now,” rumbled my lover, and I cringed, for I’d been pointlessly hoping that he hadn’t noticed, and I’d have time later to explain.

“Sorry,” I said, as we both bent to pull on our boots.

“Mm,” came the reply, but he only looked at me, and I honestly think he was amused.

We paused to collect Galmar’s eldest, Ania. She shared an apartment on the same floor as us and her parents, along with her own future spouse, a pretty slip of a Nord girl named Hellina. I supposed Hellina was already downstairs, for when she answered our knock, Ania was alone.

“My lord,” she said, inclining her head slightly. I was a little surprised, as she was used to calling him ‘Uncle Ulfric,’ as all her sisters did.

“I hope you don’t expect _me_ to start calling you that,” I muttered as we three headed downstairs together.

“I would sooner command the wind than expect _you_ to obey any order of mine.”

I heard Ania snort and shared a grin with her.

When we entered the great hall, the room was already alive with raucous conversation; a troupe of bards even stood in one corner, strumming their instruments and smiling at the younger children of some of the nobles and rich merchants who danced and played together. The soldiers at the lower end roared when they saw us enter, some even standing and saluting, but this was a nightly event, and the king acknowledged them with merely a nod. The nobles and merchants sitting in the middle table, including Lia and her family, spared us a cursory glance before returning to their own conversation. Lia did spare her daughter a warning look—it was meant to hide her concern, no doubt, and Ania ignored it, as any daughter wary of being embarrassed by her mother would do. I noticed, too, that Galmar sat down near the lower end with the soldiers—a truly unusual occurrence, as he typically sat at the king’s right hand when important guests were in attendance.

Tonight’s guests all rose when we arrived, all of them bowing to the king before we all sat down. At first I could not guess who they were, but soon it became clear that they were all the lords and mayors of the local townships of Eastmarch. Cragwallow, Wittestadr, Yorgrim, and many others—they were all here. Those who were married had brought their spouses with them, which surprised me, as such individuals would normally be seated at the middle table. It struck me that news must have spread that I would be attending, and I wondered if this was the reason why things had changed tonight.

If Ulfric minded the presence of these spouses, he gave no indication of it. He spoke to them politely, answering their questions and accepting their compliments to his city and palace.

“And so this is your heir,” said Eira Hammerhurl, mayor of Lower Yorgrim. “She is the daughter of your greatest general, Galmar Stone-Fist, is she not?”

“A pity to end the Stormcloak line,” commented the mayor of Wittestadr, a portly man who smiled too much.

“She will take the Stormcloak name when she takes the throne,” said the king.

“ _If_ she takes the throne,” said Eira, arching a well-formed brow. “A jarl must prove herself to be the strongest as well as the wisest in order to rule, as you yourself so recently proved, Ulfric.”

“I have fought alongside my father and my king,” said Ania, leaning forward as she spoke, the movement causing the muscles in her arms to become even more defined than usual. “Any man or woman may challenge me, if they like. I will meet them with my blade.”

“There will be little need for that,” said another mayor quickly. “Skyrim has had enough of war.”

“And I do not intend to die anytime soon,” said the king, sipping his mead.

“Of course not,” laughed Eira.

“And I suppose this young man is your lover,” said the Wittestadr mayor, “and soon to be husband, if I understand correctly.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “My, he is rather young.”

“A difference in age can provide an interesting perspective,” said Cragwallow’s mayor, whose own young wife sat beside him.

“Indeed, Cylus,” returned the other, “but the wife of a mayor is quite a different thing from the husband of a jarl. And the soon-to-be High King of Skyrim at that.”

“If Ulfric doesn’t mind, then neither do I,” I said, for my relative youth was often a sore point with me. “Besides, I’m not in any hurry to grow old and ugly just yet.”

The mayor blinked at me in surprise; meanwhile, the rest of the table, including his wife, laughed in appreciation. Under the table, I could feel the king’s knee briefly touch my own, and I realized that heat had risen to my cheeks—I was nervous, and the portly mayor’s needling had made me even more so, but it seemed the others liked my feistiness as well as my clever tongue.

“In the untimely event of my death, Casien would serve as advisor to Ania, alongside her sister, Una,” said the king. “However, as I have already stated, I do not intended to die anytime soon.”

 “We taunt the Nine to speak so casually of our great jarl’s death,” said Eira. “Let us speak of other matters.”

Talk turned to business then, and the real reasons why they had all come. I could see Ania furrowing her brow as they discussed taxes and goods; she only came to life when concerns about defense were raised, but even then she seemed flummoxed on what to do about the shortage of guards and how to pay them. I suggested providing incentives, such as more time off than usual. Some agreed and some did not, but in the end, I did not make a fool of myself at all. No one was more surprised than I was.

I wondered, too, at something the king had said: that I was to serve as advisor to the new jarl when he died. I thought it rather presumptuous of him, for it was something we had never discussed before—not that I would have welcomed discussing his death. Perhaps it had only been political speech. Nevertheless, it was something I intended on confronting him about.

The dinner continued without incident, and the tension between guests relaxed as they got more and more into their cups. Ulfric, as usual, remained a steady drinker yet never seemed to come close to losing his composure. I was wise enough to ask for tea—it was too late for coffee—after my first glass of mead. Ania was a soldier, and drank like one, and soon had the mayors all laughing at her hilarious (and occasionally vulgar) war stories. In the past I might have thought this would disqualify her in the eyes of the others, but I had grown used to Nord ways, and now knew that this merely endeared her to them and made her seem more honest and trustworthy.

It was surely past nine when my eyes finally began to droop. Many of those who had been sitting at the middle table had already departed, especially those who did not live in the palace or those who had young children. I was used to going to bed early myself and would normally be upstairs by now. I think Ulfric must have seen my face for he drained his final mug of mead and bid the remaining guests good night. When he stood, I stood with him, and together we left the hall.

“You did well,” he said, resting a hand between my shoulders as we walked.

“Did I?” I stifled a yawn. “This isn’t going to be a nightly thing, is it?”

“So long as we have guests of significance—I would like it to be.”

I frowned. “A compromise, then: once a week. I can promise to be your peacock at least once a week, but no more.”

“Twice a week. And you have never even seen a peacock.”

“No, but I’ve read about them, and I’ve seen illustrations. They’re beautiful.”

“Then the comparison is apt.”

I was too embarrassed by the compliment to dispute his amendment to my compromise. Twice a week, while annoying, was really not too much to ask of me. Being the king’s lover could not all be countless free time and endless luxury, after all. I supposed it was high time I started to do my part.

Back in our rooms, I was surprised to see a number of packages had been placed on the large desk in the study.

I blinked, stopping short. “What—who are these from? Are they for you?” I’d been told that he didn’t care to celebrate his birthday whatsoever.

Ulfric strode forward, reaching for a note that was lying on top of one of the packages, his eyes scanning it before he handed it to me.

“Lia and the others,” he said. “They do this every year.”

 _Enjoy your gifts_ , it said. _Though I am sure the greatest gift is the one you have already received from Mara herself. Love, Lia_.

I frowned, confused. “What does she mean? ‘The greatest gift is the one you…’” I felt my heart skip a beat, a warmth suffusing my face yet again. “Oh.”

Ulfric was watching me, his blue eyes softened in the dancing firelight. I could tell he was amused by my embarrassment.

“She is right,” he said as he leaned against the desk. He reached a hand out, gripping my left arm and pulling me gently closer. “ _You_ are my greatest gift.”

He held me as he kissed me, and I fisted the front of his tunic as I leaned into his kiss. How foolish my concerns from this morning had been, though I don’t disparage my own hurt feelings. But perhaps that was what Helgird had meant when she had classified my beloved as a ‘man grown.’ Now that we were firmly together, he did not question the love we shared between us, nor did he demand signs of my constancy and affection. Neither did he refrain from showing his own affections when the desire struck him. But perhaps, most importantly—I don’t think he truly minded my own fumbling attempts at romance, my awkwardness, or my inexperience. With time, we would become more used to one another’s ways; I would learn to read his aloofness as a mere personality quirk and not a sign of his indifference towards me. After all, I still had the stack of love letters he had sent me during my stay at the college. In truth, I ought never need further proof of his devotion toward me.

The gifts were in danger of being ignored, but eventually I insisted that he open them. This, I learned, was indeed a yearly ritual. Lia and the children always left him gifts here. The two adults feigned ignorance of the event the morning after, but the girls always exclaimed with delight if they noticed him wearing a scarf or tunic of their making. This year he received a new cloak, a belt clasp, a dagger, a book, and a batch of cookies—it made me smile to realize I must not have been the only one slaving away in the kitchen today, no doubt much to Igor’s annoyance.

“Did you have a good birthday?” I asked, once we were in bed and lying close together, our arms wrapped loosely around one another.

“It had a good ending,” he said, his arms tightening around me a little.

I smacked his arm and laughed; he pulled me close again, and I daresay we did not fall asleep for quite some time, my earlier weariness notwithstanding.

//

 

A/N: Follow me on [Tumblr](http://curiousartemis.tumblr.com/)!


	2. Chapter 2

I stared at myself in the wash room mirror, tilting my chin up slightly as I pulled my hair back.

“I don’t know,” I said, turning my head a little and trying to get a glimpse at my profile. “I think it makes me look older. More professional. Though I’d have to borrow some of those pins from Lia or one of the girls to keep the side bits up.”

When my comments received no immediate response, I glanced at the other person in the mirror.

“Am I meant to agree or disagree?” he rumbled, his eyes never leaving his own reflection, as he was busy trimming his beard.

I rolled my eyes. “Never mind.”

I let my hair go, watching as it fell back around my ears in its habitual messy style. I frowned and rubbed my chin next.

“Maybe I should grow a beard.”

“You should not,” came the abrupt reply.

I snorted. “Well _that_ garnered an immediate response.”

He only eyed me for a moment before resuming his trimming. I sighed and turned away from the mirror, moving to sit on the side of the tub and crossing my arms over my chest.

“At least it would make me look older. There’s no way I’m _not_ going to be the youngest one there. And they’re already all predisposed to dislike me and not trust a single thing I say.”

“Then they are fools who do not know aid when it is being offered to them.”

I frowned. “They’re not fools. They’re just… they’re used to being treated a certain way. So when someone like me tries to help them… I mean, gods, look at how I just _referred_ to myself. Like I’m not even one of them.”

I watched as he lay the trimmers down, pausing to narrow his eyes at his reflection and run his fingers over his beard before glancing at me.

“You are overthinking things again.”

I scowled. “No, I’m not.”

He turned away, heading out of the wash room and back into the bedroom, where he began to get dressed. I followed him, flopping back onto the bed and gazing up at the ceiling.

“You’re no help at all,” I said. “First you won’t let me grow a beard—

“You can grow a beard if you like.”

“I don’t want to grow a beard. But you could at least give me some advice. You’ve been doing this sort of thing for 20 years. I’m new to being… well, _you_.”

He surprised me then by suddenly appearing before me, resting his hands on either side of me and gazing down at me. His hair fell over the shoulders of the fresh red tunic he’d pulled on, and his blue eyes gazed solemnly down at me—false solemnity, I knew, because they were already crinkling at the edges.

“Do you know who helped me when I was your age? No one. So you will have to figure this out for yourself.”

He leaned down and kissed me before straightening and turning to go. I blinked for a moment, then half-sat up, glaring.

“That’s not even true! You had Galmar!”

“True,” he said, without looking back. “So I was at a disadvantage.”

I snorted and lay back down, resting my hands on my stomach. “I’m totally telling him you said that,” I muttered. After a while though, I sat back up, reaching up to absently smooth down my perpetually messy hair. There was no point in stalling. If I didn’t leave now, I was going to be late.

Ulfric never seemed to really care about things like fashion and appearance, but then, he was 6’3 and built like an oak tree. _I_ was short and still being called ‘boy’ and ‘lad’ at the ripe old age of nearly 21, and alas, spending all winter within the castle had failed to divest me of my freckles. So I had chosen my clothing with care, selecting a soft brown pair of trousers that were well-tailored yet not overdesigned. My tunic was a deep blue color and unadorned of any fancy stitching or embellishments. I wore a dark brown sleeveless ornamental gambeson over it—they had become fashionable in Windhelm, and were almost always worn over a pair of trousers by both men and women. My gray cloak was last, and I hesitated before using the golden bear clasp—suppose it sent the wrong message? The others might think I was shoving my position in their faces. But in the end, I kept it, for it was something that always seemed to lend me strength and confidence.

Lastly, I strapped on my sword belt; among Nords it was a more than common accessory to any outfit, whether one were dressing for battle or for dinner. I wasn’t sure how the look would play out with the people I would be meeting with today—I’d no doubt be referred to as a ‘Nord-lover’ more than once this morning, and, to be perfectly fair, that wasn’t entirely literally untrue—but I wasn’t foolish enough to roam the streets without protection.

I checked my reflection in the mirror, and, with the notable exception of my hair, felt I looked entirely respectable. I made my way out of the apartment then, nodding at the guard outside. I took the main stairs instead of the servants’ stairs, and didn’t encounter anyone until I reached the second floor. Guests stared after me with wide eyes (though they were quick to look away when I caught them staring), and I even overheard one woman whisper to her friend, _They say he’s a mage, too_. I barely resisted the urge to call forth my little flame or send a mage light bobbing into the air. I wasn’t an apprentice any longer; intimidating guests of the jarl with magic was not really something one really ought to do if one truly intended to marry that jarl.

The air was still sharp and cold as I stepped outside, but the bitterness had faded, and I almost tasted spring on the air. I made my way down the steps and through the main part of town before veering off to the left and entering the Gray Quarter.

People stared. Even if my face wasn’t yet known to all, there could be no mistaking who I was. In stark contrast to the people I passed, I was richly dressed, well-fed, and armed. There was no law against Dunmer carrying weapons, but blades were expensive, and there were some merchants who wouldn’t sell to mer anyway. I swallowed the bad taste in my mouth and finally made my way to the Corner Club, letting myself in.

It was as warm and cheerful as always, though nearly deserted at this time of the day. Behind the bar, Ambarys Rendar looked up and nodded at me.

“They’re waiting for you. Just down the hallway to your left.”

“Thank you,” I said.

“Don’t let them bully you,” he said, before I could turn away. “Especially Malthyr.” He grinned. “I know better than most what a stubborn old fool he can be. But here’s a tip: the more he realizes he’s wrong, the more he tries to come at you. So take comfort in that.”

“Thank you,” I said again, though I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant. “I will.”

I made my way down the short hallway, pausing before the open door. I could hear voices, some of whom I recognized. They were arguing, and they sounded bitter and accusatory. I sighed. My people never really changed.

I took a quick, deep breath and entered the room. The sea of gray faces seated around the table all paused and looked up at me, red, purple, and brown eyes narrowing.

“Good morning,” I said, trying for a smile.

“Good morning,” said Suvaris Atheron. “It was good of you to organize this.”

“Yes, we’re all so humbled and grateful,” said Malthyr Elenil, and I took another quick breath, remembering what Ambarys had said.

“Thank you, everyone, for coming to the inaugural Dunmer Business Leaders meeting,” I said, taking a seat at the remaining empty chair at the table. “I’ve been fortunate, and I want to share that good fortune with the rest of my people, if I can.”

“ _Your_ people,” scoffed Revyn Sadri. “You’re probably more than half-Nord at this point.”

The implications of the vulgar joke weren’t lost on me. Still, I chose not to react; I even managed to refrain from blushing. I knew he was only trying to upset me. But what I needed to remember was that he was here at all. That meant something.

“That’s borderline rude, Revyn,” said Suvaris.

“More than just ‘rude’ I’d say,” snorted Belyn Hiaalu.

“Honestly, I’m not interested in trading insults,” I said. I placed the notebook I’d brought with me before me, and readied my pen and ink. “Let’s talk instead about what we want to see changed for our people in Windhelm.”

“What _don’t_ we want changed,” muttered one businessman.

“The streets,” said a woman, obviously ignoring the other’s sarcastic comment. “They need to be completely redone. They’re maintained well enough throughout the rest of the city, but in the Gray Quarter they’re full of pot holes. And when the snow melts, it’s almost impossible to walk through them without getting mud caked up through the tops of your boots.”

I nodded, dipping my pen into the ink and jotting down her comments.

“That’s going to change,” I said, even though I was in no position to make such an authoritative statement, but her words had stoked an anger in me that had been muffled by the relative comforts I’d enjoyed these past few years.

“Pot holes make it awfully difficult to bring in goods,” said another man.

“And look, I’m just going to say it,” said Suvaris. “Guards. We need more guards. Guards who actually care about protecting us. You can’t be a dark elf woman and walk through the city at night without fear of attack.”

My hand paused in my note-taking, my heart momentarily stuttering. All of a sudden, I was transfixed, brought back to a dark street in the Quarter, a group of men taunting me, touching me roughly.

“Are you all right?” asked Suvaris, her voice actually concerned.

I cleared my throat. “Yes. Sorry. And of course, I agree. I would say that the palace needs to focus on better recruiting and training of guards. Windhelm guards should be firmly committed to the safety of _all_ citizens, regardless of race.”

All of the women and some of the men nodded in agreement.

“I can speak to Galmar,” I said, tapping the feathered end of the pen against my nose thoughtfully. “He’s technically in charge of the city guard, but I doubt he has anything to do with the day-to-day recruiting and training. But if I talk to him, I bet I can get him to come down hard on whoever _is_ handling it.”

“So that’s what we’re all being asked to rely on?” barked Malthyr. “A boy who’s going to use that pretty face of his to sweet talk the most important Nords in the city?”

“I wouldn’t call it sweet-talking,” I said, “But yes. It’s either that or I end this meeting and go back to the palace. Then you get nothing.”

He glared at me. “Smart-assed little runt is what you are.”

“And you’re a bitter old fool,” said Suvaris, and several of the others snorted or laughed in agreement. “The boy’s right. He didn’t have to organize this meeting, but he did. I for one will use what’s been provided to us to make our lives in Windhelm better.”

“I have a meeting with the jarl immediately after this,” I said, looking at them all. “I’ll present my list to him and argue the case for each. He won’t approve everything; there isn’t the money for it, not after the war. But I’m certain I can get him to see reason on some of these.”

I turned to Malthyr and Revyn. “And you can both keep making snide comments about me and the jarl, but it won’t change my commitment to getting results. So either keep making comments or help the rest of us make up this list.”

The pair appeared suitably cowed, and, after sitting in sullen silence for a while, soon joined the others in brainstorming. By the end of two and a half hours, I had a fair number of items on the list, including better maintenance of street lamps at night, receiving permission to install plumbing in homes and businesses that could afford it, and making it illegal for non-Dunmer shopkeepers to refuse service based on race. Some, like the latter, I wasn’t sure were doable, for I hadn’t the slightest idea how such a thing would be enforced, and I didn’t know if the king was willing to risk alienating such a large number of the population—for there were indeed still a great number of Windhelm human citizens—not just Nords—who hated and distrusted all mer. I could already hear the shopkeepers’ argument: _If I agree to sale to Dunmer, my other customers will desert me. Am I to be put out of business just to please a few gray-skins?_

The other issues, such as the street maintenance, would require coin, which I knew for a fact the city was more than short on after the war. It was going to be difficult, but we had to start somewhere. And at least I was in a position to actually do something about some of these problems.

Afterward, Ambarys wanted me to stay and have a drink, on the house, he said, but I had to refuse. I was going to be late for my meeting with the jarl.

“Well, then,” he said, “Does he have a favorite brew, this jarl of yours? Help me out, boy; Malthyr can call me a Nord-lover all he likes but I’m also a businessman.”

I smiled a little. “Ashfire mead,” I said. “I think it’s his favorite.”

“Two bottles of Ashfire mead, then. We’ll see you next week.”

I was light on my feet as I made my way back to the castle, the two bottles of mead tucked under one arm, my notebook in the other. I glanced at the sun and thought, contrary to what I’d told Ambarys, I’d be either a little bit early or right on time. I was a little nervous as I made my way back up the steps and entered through the heavy doors. This would be my first official meeting with the king as a citizen of Windhelm, and now the mouthpiece of the fledgling Dunmer Business Leaders Association. Granted, the entire idea had been brainstormed between the two of us in bed one late evening, but he had insisted that I conduct the entire thing above the board. And that meant petitioning him in his office through all the official channels.

I entered the antechamber to his office and paused before Jorleif, who looked up from his documents-strewn desk.

“Casien,” he said, blinking. “Did you need something? He’s in his office, but lunch isn’t for another hour, I think.”

I swallowed. “I have a meeting with the king,” I said. “I should be in the ledger.”

He frowned and moved a few papers aside to peer at the large open book on his desk. “It says ‘meeting with the representative from the Dunmer Business…” He blinked again and looked up. “Oh, bless my soul. Is that you?”

“Yes,” I said, shifting my burdens awkwardly. “He should be expecting me.”

“Well, go in, then. I think Griselda’s in there complaining about the staff rotation again. He’ll probably welcome the distraction.”

I nodded, a little dismayed by how informal he was continuing to be around me, for I hoped to be taken seriously, not for my own sake but for the sake of those who attended this morning’s meeting. However, I ought not to have feared, for as soon as I entered the jarl’s study, he looked up at me and immediately dismissed Griselda.

“My lord,” she said, her face slightly pinched as she bowed and turned to leave. I have a feeling whatever point she’d been trying to argue with him had been unsuccessful.

Once she left, he gestured towards one of the chairs facing his immense desk, so I sat.

His brow furrowed when I set the two bottles of mead down between us.

“And what is this?”

“A gesture of courtesy and thanks from Ambarys Rendar, one of the owners of the Corner Club,” I said. “He sends his kind regards.”

“I see,” he replied, reaching for one of the bottles and popping it open, pausing to sniff the contents before taking a sip. “I wonder how he knew.”

“Knew what?”

The look he gave me told me he knew my innocence was feigned. I smiled.

“Hm. And what business do you have to share with your jarl today.”

I straightened and lay down my list of items.

“Requests from the members of the Dunmer Business Leaders Association, my lord. Would you like to look at the list, or shall I read it to you?”

“Give it to me.”

I did so, and he frowned, his eyes moving quickly back and forth as he scanned the contents of the list. One hand moved to stroke his newly-trimmed beard as he read, and I liked to think that he was pleasantly surprised over how productive I had been.

“This is a very long list,” he said dryly, once he’d finished reading.

“Perhaps, my lord,” I replied, “But the Gray Quarter has been ignored far more and for far longer than other parts of the city. There is much that needs— _requires—_ improvement.”

“You sound as if you question your jarl’s commitment to the citizens of this city.”

I started, feeling my face warm. “No, that’s not what I meant to imply. I—” But then I paused, my eyes narrowing. “You’re teasing me!”

The hint of a smile crossed his face. He picked up the notebook again, looking at it.

“Some of these are reasonable. The street maintenance, for example, and the lighting. As for the guards, I suggest you speak to Galmar.”

“I was already going to do that,” I said, not a little bit proud of myself.

“The others I will have to think on. However, even the physical repairs will require coin.” He lowered the notebook again and met my eyes. “How do you propose we obtain this coin?”

I stammered. I hadn’t anticipated the question being turned over to me. What did I know about running a city?

I thought about admitting the truth, that I hadn’t the faintest clue on how to obtain enough coin to enact repairs. But doing so was galling, and felt like quitting before I’d even begun. I seized instead upon a new idea.

“I believe first it is necessary that we calculate just how much coin these repairs would take,” I said.

He nodded. “That is a fair request.”

We talked for nearly an hour; at one point, Jorleif was even brought in so we could compare overall revenue and population growth from past years. In the end, he still demanded an answer to his question, and as I couldn’t definitively come up with a solution, I had to beg for a stay. He reiterated that he was amenable to many of our requests, but that ultimately nothing could or would be done until we could come up with a means to pay for it.

The Dwemer clock struck noon, and right on cue, there was a knock on the door before a servant entered bearing a tray with our lunch.

“Do not be discouraged,” he said, as we chewed on our sandwiches, me perhaps a bit more morosely than him for I felt as if I had failed in my efforts. “These things take time.”

“I know,” I said (though truly, I didn’t—what experience did I have with state matters?). “I just wanted to be able to take something back to them next week.”

“A question of funding is not insignificant. However, it is only one of many steps required before a project can be considered complete. Today you have taken the first step on many different projects. That is an accomplishment.”

This I would have to be satisfied with. I don’t think it helped that many of the people I wanted to help had little faith that I would be able to come through with my promises. I feared having to return to them and report what would seem to them justification for hating and not trusting me. In that sense, I suppose I became even more determined than ever to come up with some sort of monetary solution.

I was in the bath later that night, soaking in the warm water and musing over my problem when it suddenly hit me.

I drained the water and stepped out of the tub, almost tripping in my haste. I wrapped a robe around myself and hurried into the study, sitting down at the desk and pulling open one of the drawers to retrieve a few sheets of paper. I dipped pen to ink and began to calculate, scratching out numbers, crossing them out and starting over again. Estimating percentages, and…

“This will work,” I muttered, squinting down at my handiwork.

I drew the whole thing up on a cleaner sheet of paper and waited for the jarl to return for the evening. I had already served my time, so to speak, at dinner downstairs twice that week, so I was off the hook for tonight and had chosen to take dinner up here. That had been well over an hour ago, for I’d languished in the bath for quite some time, as was my habit. When the outer door finally opened I leapt to my feet, grabbed my calculations, and hurried towards my lover.

“This is how we fix things,” I said, handing it to him before he even made it into the study. “Reduced taxes for the poor, higher taxes for the wealthy. No change for people in the middle.”

He looked at it, holding it with one hand while unbuckling his sword belt with the other, his brow furrowed.

“This will never be accepted by the noble families of Windhelm,” he said, handing the document back to me.

“Why not?” I demanded, following him as he continued forward, tossing his light coat aside. “Why should everyone have to pay the exact same percentage? 10% is nothing when you live in luxury, but when your income is barely enough to see you through the month it can be devastating! It isn’t fair,” I insisted, “that on tax day my people have to budget the rest of their month just to make ends meet; meanwhile, the same percentage for those in Valunstrad is given easily, without thought or concern. It doesn’t affect their day-to-day life whatsoever.”

“We can propose a lower tax for those in the Gray Quarter, but Jorleif will reject it. That will leave us in a deficit.”

“No,” I said, frustrated. “You aren’t understanding. That would be seen as a race tax. Then the poorest Nords would get a hold of it and accuse you of favoritism. And the Dunmer would accuse you of condescension, and yes, we’d still be in a deficit. That wouldn’t accomplish the problem at all; in fact, it would make it even _worse_.”

“How is that worse?” he asked, and I could tell he was becoming irritated with me. “They complain about the tax being too high. So we lower it.”

“Maybe if you would actually listen to what I have to say instead of rejecting my idea outright you’d see!”

He sighed, collapsing into a plush couch in the sitting room, his eyes closing. After a moment, he opened them again, meeting my own. “I am listening. Tell me.”

All of a sudden, I felt guilty. He had been up since this morning, working, talking to people, listening to their problems, proposing solutions, overseeing people and projects, just as he did every day. I thought abruptly of how it was we had first met: him, escaping to the second guest bedroom, only so he could steal a free hour each day when no one made any demands of him. And here I was, a year and a half later, the person he once came to for relief, demanding even more from him.

“I’m sorry,” I said, feeling myself wilt a little bit as I sank into the couch beside him. “I shouldn’t be bothering you with this right now.”

“It is no bother.” He gestured at my paper. “Give me your numbers.”

I did, and he studied it more carefully this time. He again told me it would be a hard sell to the noble and wealthiest families in the city, but if I had any ideas on how to accomplish this, he was willing to listen. I didn’t, not off the top of my head, but I promised that I would think on it. He frowned at the numbers again, the fingers of one hand rubbing at his beard, and finally declared that the math, at least, was sound. If the nobles could, in fact, be persuaded to agree to this, then the tax burden could be lessened on those who could bear it least, and many of the projects the Dunmer wanted could still be easily funded.

I was elated, not to mention relieved. I thanked him, of course, by crawling into his lap and hugging and kissing him. I couldn’t help thinking about what Revyn had said, about using my ‘pretty face’ to get what I wanted. Well, I didn’t know how pretty my face might be, but making love to the jarl on an almost nightly basis could probably fall under the blanket of what he’d been describing. But every kiss, every touch, my lover and I shared we shared because we truly loved one another. There was no subterfuge in either of us—in truth, I believe such an action would have gone against both our characters. We were different in many ways, yet more alike than I think we often realized.

“I have news that I believe will bring you some displeasure,” he rumbled to me in the darkness later that night, as I glued myself to his side under the bedcovers. The nights were still quite cold, even in the heart of the palace, and my lover was a veritable furnace.

“What,” I mumbled against his shoulder.

“Spring is nearly here. I believe we will leave for Whiterun in less than a month.”

“Why would that—oh.”

My heart sank a little, for I had only just begun my work to help my people. And there was so much more to be done! But the moot obviously could not be put off, and Ulfric insisted that I accompany him. He didn’t have to insist very hard. We had only been reunited for six months now; I was not ready to give him up so soon.

“I’ve never been to Whiterun,” I said sleepily, my eyes drooping closed. I imagined it would be so much warmer there.

“I know,” he said.

I could feel the fingers of his hand combing softly through my hair, but before I could think of anything else to say, I drifted off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was supposed to be working on something this weekend, and I DID work on it, but I also couldn't help indulging in some writing, so here's a much faster-than-usual update :P


	3. Chapter 3

The morning of my second meeting with the Dunmer Business Leaders Association arrived faster than I had anticipated. I uncharacteristically overslept, for when I awoke, the sun was streaming through the bedroom windows, and I was alone in bed. I sat up, running my fingers through my tangled hair, and blinked blearily around me. I could hear the bathwater draining in the wash room, so at least I wouldn’t be eating breakfast alone.

I threw the blankets back and stumbled to my feet, kneeling before my dresser to search for a clean pair of smallclothes.

“Don’t say anything,” I growled at my lover as he exited the washroom.

He obeyed, though I could’ve sworn I saw him smirking from the corner of my eye. I had had to sit through another _special_ dinner last night, and, for whatever reason, several bottles of seasonal whiskey had been broken out. One of the wealthy merchants said something about ‘the jarl’s little elf’ not being able to hold his liquor the way a strong, healthy Nord could, and… well, that was that. After my second glass I could already feel my fingertips tingling. To be perfectly honest, I don’t even remember the trip back to the apartment.

I found myself clearing my throat a lot as I dressed and blamed the scratchiness I felt there on my hangover. Thinking I could sit down to breakfast and eat the queasiness away was a mistake. As soon as the smell of the sizzling bacon and buttered bread reached my nose, my stomach revolted. I leapt out of my chair and raced for the washroom, where I proceeded to empty the contents of my stomach.

The king was still sitting at his breakfast, chewing silently and watching when I returned.

“Don’t. Say. _Anything_ ,” I warned before sitting down gingerly on the edge of my chair.

Rather than try to force myself to eat, I reached for my coffee and took a few tentative sips. My stomach accepted the offering, and soon the queasiness began to pass. But my head still ached, and my throat was still raw, and a sudden chill sweeping over me had me shivering despite the merrily crackling fire.

The king frowned.

“You are cold,” he said.

“Of course I’m cold!” I snapped over my steaming coffee mug. “I’m always cold in this gods forsaken place.”

He reached over to touch my forehead, but I batted his hand away. He pressed his lips together, then, shaking his head, finished off the rest of his breakfast.

“I will see you at lunch,” he said, pausing to wipe his mouth before standing. “Don’t forget your notes. And try not to bite any of the other elves.”

“Ha, ha.”

I felt another chill coming over me, but I tried to hide it until he left. Once he did, I hurried back to the bedroom and pulled on another, thicker tunic. After that, I pulled out my notes and sat back down gingerly on the bed—the study still smelled of breakfast and thus continued to turn my stomach. I was nervous; _I_ knew that progress had been made, but making the others understand and believe this would be difficult. The fact that I well knew they were all too willing to expect me to have failed utterly didn’t exactly help settle the butterflies in my already restless stomach, either.

Eventually, it was time to go. I shouldered my cloak and pulled on my boots, tucking my notebook under my arm as I headed out. My thoughts were full of the coming meeting, so I barely noticed the second floor guests who smiled and simpered at me as I passed, only to whisper to one another once my back was turned. Their opinions at present meant very little to me. Much more important were the thoughts and opinions of my own people.

I had to pause, blinking, as I made my way further downstairs, for a momentary spell of dizziness had come over me.

“Are you all right?” asked a passing servant

I breathed in, then managed to smile at her.

“I’m fine,” I said. “Just tired, and—too much to drink at dinner last night.”

She smiled back. “I know _that_ feeling.”

She was Dunmer, and new, and the exchange lifted my spirits somewhat. Not everyone downstairs hated me; in fact, some of them may have even been happy that the jarl had fallen in love with a poor, useless nobody like me.

Outside, the weather was calm, and the sun even peaked out occasionally from behind the clouds as I made my way towards the Gray Quarter. Yet I still felt chilled to the bone, and I tugged my cloak more tightly around my shoulders as I walked. Ambarys nodded at me as I entered; I nodded back and made my way down the hallway. The chatter coming from the room was calmer than it had been the first time, and that cheered me somewhat. I did not feel so much as if I were walking into a room full of hungry wolves.

“By the Three, but you look ill,” said Suvaris, as I entered the room.

I waved a hand at her, too tired suddenly to negate the observation. I sank down into my chair perhaps a bit too heavily. At this point I was aware of the others all peering at me in relative concern.

“You’re as bad as he is,” I huffed, opening my notebook. “I’m fine. Now if we can just begin…”

“Won’t get any arguments from me,” said Malthyr, which I really think was his way of being polite.

I nodded, pausing as another wave of dizziness washed over me. I cleared my throat, then, and swallowed.

“First on the agenda: In regards to the request for street restoration and reconstruction…”

I paused, my mind suddenly fuzzy, and I realized I had no idea what I wanted to say. I looked down at my notebook; the words and figures seemed to slowly begin to circle one another. _This isn’t normal_ , I finally had to admit myself.

“…Yes?” prompted Aris Melorin, a prominent Gray Quarter baker.

I blinked and shook my head slightly.

“I’m sorry. In regards to…” But now it wasn’t just the words and figures—the entire room was beginning to swirl. I couldn’t even really make out the faces before me anymore.

“He’s ill,” I heard Suvaris say, her voice sounding as if it were coming through a tunnel. “Someone fetch a healer.”

“Shouldn’t we ask up at the palace?” someone else asked.

“If the jarl blames us for this…” another voice warned.

“Don’t be so selfish,” said a third person. “The poor boy is…”

But I failed to learn what her assessment of my condition was. I suppose whoever had been sitting beside me must have caught me, for I distinctly recall sliding slightly to the right, a feeling of mild, distant panic overtaking me as I realized I was losing consciousness.

//

When I awoke, I was in the king’s bed—our bed, that is. I blinked up through the darkness; it was still daytime, but the heavy curtains had been pulled over the windows. I heard voices speaking lowly not far from me; one was the king’s, the other was unfamiliar.

“I fear the infection will soon spread to the lungs and other vital organs, if it hasn’t already,” said the strange voice. “He should not have been walking about with such a fever.”

“If you imply that the fault was mine—

“I do not, my king,” said the other man, who I now presumed must be a healer. “Of course, I do not. But we must keep him in bed, though I do not imagine he will be in any haste to leave it. He is weak, and I suspect will get weaker before he gets better.”

There was a silence, and I could feel the king’s concern hanging heavily in the air. Like me, he tends to worry about things a little too much, and I almost smiled, picturing the heavy furrowing of his brow.

“Ulfric,” I said, surprised by how tired my voice sounded. I rarely called him by his name, either, but it rather slipped out. “Stop worrying. I’m all right…”

I heard the heavy tread of his boots—he was wearing them in the bedroom, and if I hadn’t felt so weary and out of my head—the servant only managed to shake out all the rugs a few times a year, after all—you can certainly bet that I would have scolded him for it. Then he was by my side, sitting on the mattress beside me and resting a large hand over my head, gingerly, as if he feared even touching me.

“You are now,” he said, his low voice even more grave-sounding that usual.

I smiled up at him, but he didn’t smile back. I shivered suddenly, even though I was still fully dressed, and the blankets were pulled all the way up to my shoulders.

“This is my fault,” he said, anger, presumably at himself, vying with the concern etched into his features. “I could see this morning that you were not well. I should have prevented you from going out.”

I huffed under my breath, the sound barely audible. This wouldn’t do, I thought, oddly amused. He was already so much bigger and older than me; I couldn’t let myself just lie here all weak and barely able to speak. Things between us just wouldn’t _work_ that way.

“My lord,” I heard the healer say. “I’m sorry, but he needs rest.”

The king gazed down at me for a moment before finally nodding. He leaned over, pressing his lips to my forehead before rising and moving away from me. I heard them pass into the next room, and again listened to them, or tried to, anyway, as they spoke about me and my apparent illness.

“As I said,” continued the healer, “It will likely get worse before it gets better. I recommend bringing in a priest from Kynareth. I will do what I can for his body, but a few prayers and devotionals towards the goddess cannot hurt.”

“… I see,” said the king, and I thought he sounded… I wasn’t sure. Not angry, not sad. But certainly not at peace.

I felt my eyelids growing heavy, then, and drifted off to sleep.

I don’t remember much about what happened afterward. I awakened more than once—I had to have. But each time I felt myself growing more confused about what was happening and who was present. I wasn’t sure, either, if I were dreaming or if what I saw and heard were truly real. Sometimes I felt a hand holding me gently at the back of my head, a spoon pressed to my lips. Sometimes the spoon held warm broth; other times its contents were bitter, the sharpness biting my tongue. The king was with me often; I heard Galmar once, shouting at him, but then I thought I imagined the shouting. I felt a cool, damp cloth on my forehead and opened my eyes. Lia Stone-Fist smiled back at me, but then I watched as she became my mother. _Mama_ , I said, a great, deep longing rising up within me, then grief constricted my heart because I knew that my mother was dead, and this couldn’t be her. I felt tears sting the corners of my eyes, and a woman’s voice tell me, gently, to hush and go back to sleep.

Then, eventually, finally, I opened my eyes, and knew exactly where I was.

It was morning again. The drapes were still drawn, and I wished that someone might pull them open. I couldn’t do it; I could scarcely lift my head off the pillow. That made me realize that the blankets covering me were stifling, so I reached up and pushed them down past my chest. The action took a great deal out of me, and I let out a surprised little breath. My chest was bare, too, but the cool surrounding air was a relief against my clammy skin.

I heard the outer door opening, and couldn’t help smiling, thinking it must be my lover. But the person who entered the bedroom was not the king; they were much smaller, thinner, and altogether more female. It was, in fact, Galmar’s second youngest daughter, a girl who had become far too obsessed with dresses, dancing, and romance for me to really have anything in common with. She paused, her eyes meeting mine, and nearly gasped.

“You’re awake!” she cried.

I smiled; I meant to respond, but the thought of having to open my mouth proved to be too great an effort. She didn’t wait for me to respond anyway; she turned and fled, the outer door banging closed behind her. I almost expected to drift back off to sleep, but I didn’t. Evidently, my body had gotten about as much sleep as it could tolerate, at least for the time being.

Instead, I lay there and listened to the sounds of the waves below and the wind buffeting against the windows in great, big gasps. It was a familiar sound by now, and it comforted me. I thought, then, of the meeting I had obviously failed to properly attend, but I couldn’t bring myself to feel guilty about it. It was hardly my fault that I had fallen sick, and truly, I had done everything I could to be there.

Though in retrospect, perhaps pushing myself so stubbornly had not exactly been the best of plans. Even if it did prove my commitment to my people.

It wasn’t long before the familiar tread of heavy boots brought me back to the present, and soon the king was beside me.

“My heart,” he said, gazing down at me with anxious blue eyes, his hand cupping my cheek.

I smiled. “You sound like your letters.”

He actually smiled back, his fingers then folding through my hair, stroking tenderly.

“I thought I might lose you,” he said, and his words startled me, for I hadn’t imagined my illness had been so serious.

“I’m sure you’re exaggerating,” I said. “It was only a fever. How long have I been asleep?”

Since it was morning again, it had to have been at least a day. I wasn’t expecting more than that, so his answer took me quite by surprise.

“You have lain here for nearly a week,” he said, continuing to gently and tenderly stroke through my hair. “This is the morning of the sixth day.”

I stared up at him with what I imagine were eyes as wide as dinner plates. _Six days?!_ How was that even possible? How had I…? I did have vague recollections of being brought to the washroom, but… I felt suddenly embarrassed, for there really couldn’t be any doubt that I had made rather a mess of the bed sheets while lying here. No wonder I was now nearly naked under them.

“…Oh,” I finally said, for I could really think of nothing else to say.

We gazed at one another for what I can only assume was a very silly amount of time. Soon, however, I heard more footsteps, a multitude of them, and that reminded me of one very important fact.

“You promised you would remember to take your boots off in the sitting room,” I said.

His eyes widened for a moment before narrowing again.

“Insufferable little roebuck,” he muttered, and I wished I had the strength to laugh, and to lift my hand and press my finger into the crease that now formed in his forehead.

“Oh, Casien,” I heard Lia say, as she and several of her daughters now entered the bedroom. “We’re so happy you’ve returned to us!”

I smiled up at her, then at Una, Asgar, Inge, and Nella, who finally pushed past her mother and crawled onto the bed, finding one of my hands and taking it into her own.

“I knew you would get better!” she said, gazing down at me with huge, blue-green eyes. “I prayed to Kynareth every day, and I asked Uncle Ulfric which was your favorite Dunmer god, and he said he thought it might be Azura, so I prayed to her as well. I don’t think it was blasphemous of me; the priests _do_ say that the gods are all aspects of the same divine power.” She frowned. “You look awful, you know. Your eyes have these terrible shadows under them, and your hair is quite limp, and you certainly do grow a very scraggly sort of beard.”

“Nella!” said her mother, reaching for and waving at her. “Come here and leave the poor man alone, child. Casien needs rest, not to be verbally assaulted.”

“It’s fine,” I said, smiling at them both.

“Nella’s right, you know,” said Inge, the second youngest. “Everyone really thought you might die. Uncle Ulfric wouldn’t leave this room until Father came at yelled at him. After that, _we_ all cared for you, very faithfully, I might add.”

“I’m sure you did,” I replied, both touched and amused.

“Uncle Ulfric carried you back from the Gray Quarter,” said Asgar. “I wasn’t here, but Una said you looked dead.”

18-year-old Una looked at me with what was more smirk than smile, and I suppose it took me a moment for her sister’s words to sink in.

“You _carried_ me?” I asked, looking back up at my lover, who had gone rather stiff and quiet.

“Come, girls,” said Lia, doing her best now to herd her brood away from me, Nella letting my hand go with apparent great reluctance. “We have embarrassed them both quite enough. We should leave them in peace. I’ll have one of the children fetch the healer,” she said to the king, who spared her a nod.

“Well,” I said, filling the silence once they were gone. “There goes my reputation. The others will probably never respect me enough to hear me out again.”

“I admit I took little notice of anyone but you,” he replied. “But I do not think you have lost any standing among them.”

I sighed, closing my eyes briefly.

“You don’t know them,” I said. “They _hate_ Nords. And you’re… well, you’re the epitome of that which they hate. To see you there…”

I tried to picture the scene in my head. The Corner Club was neat and cheerful, but it was small, and the hallways were narrow with low ceilings. The king would have stood out like a bull among sheep. Some had probably never seen him in person, for all they lived in the same city. And then to see my limp form gathered into his strong arms as if I were a fainting maiden in a story!

“This is the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to me,” I said, groaning slightly. I would have covered my face if lifting my hand hadn’t required so much effort. “Sweet Azura,” I cried, realizing something. “Did you carry me all through the city? Did everyone in Windhelm see??”

I looked up at him, beseeching, and was dismayed (and rather greatly surprised) when all he did was sigh.

“How the gods test me,” he said, though he seemed to be muttering the words to himself more so than me. His eyes met mine again. “Would that you were strong enough for me to take you into my arms and kiss the warmth from your face.”

Sweet Azura indeed! I knew the ardent look in his eyes quite well by now. What on earth had I said to make him think of _that_? And, of course, knowing that he was thinking it made me think of it, too, and thus we were both in a bit of a state when the healer finally entered the room. I think he was very polite, too, not to notice our red faces, and I was grateful that the blankets lying over my body were very, _very_ thick.

“As good a recovery as I could have hoped for,” the healer pronounced, which I noticed wasn’t quite the same thing as declaring me _fully_ recovered. “I recommend bed rest for at least another week. After that, if you feel up to walking, try and do so slowly. Once around the room, perhaps, then rest. If you feel dizzy or out of breath, sit down or lie down immediately.” He pressed cold hands to my belly, making me hiss on reflex. “Stomach seems calm. Soup for a few days, then we’ll go from there. I’m afraid the bowels will be a little disturbed for a day or two,” he added.

“Great,” I said, trying not to blush.

He turned to the king next.

“Perhaps you and I might speak alone now, my lord.”

“Alone?” I said, blinking in alarm. “Why must you speak alone? You can say whatever it is you have to say in front of me.”

“This way,” said the king, glancing at me before gesturing for the healer to proceed him. They disappeared into the study, then, closing the door behind them.

Several minutes passed then, during which I contemplated all manner of horrible information the healer might be relaying to my lover. What could be so dire that he couldn’t find the stomach to tell me himself? Was I going to die? Had my life been shortened in some way?

I had nearly worked myself up into a cold sweat when the door finally reopened. The king met my eyes, his brows arching slightly; he could likely see the panic written all over my face.

“You will be fine,” he said, sitting beside me and taking my hand. “Do not worry. However…”

“However?”

“This illness appears to have been complicated by the fever you suffered nearly a year ago. That one weakened your body, and made it more susceptible to illnesses such as this one.”

It took me a moment before I realized what other illness he was referring to, for I was rarely truly ill, despite my poor and difficult upbringing. But he could only be referring to the time I had been bitten by the wolf; the wound had quickly become infected, despite my friends’ attempts to prevent that from happening. The infection then spread to the rest of my body, and I was said to have nearly died.

I furrowed my brow.

“So what does that mean?” I asked.

“It means you will always be vulnerable to such an attack. And that we ought not tempt fate as we did last week. From now on, if you feel even a little ill, you are to rest until you feel better.”

I was silent for a moment, the thought settling heavily into my chest.

“It’s bad enough the High King of Skyrim is marrying a Dunmer,” I finally said. “But now I’ve become this delicate wilting flower you can’t take anywhere.”

“Casien.”

I felt the hand holding my own squeeze, and I looked up, meeting his eyes.

“This changes nothing. You are strong in heart and mind. Your body, too, will soon be strong again. We will simply be more careful in the future.”

I nodded, though I still felt more than a little depressed. It wasn’t always easy, after all, being the lone dark elf among all these tall, hardy Nords. I was proud of my heritage, of course, and wouldn’t give up being Dunmer for anything. But I sometimes felt keenly how different I was, and how hard it was for me to fit in here, and I often wondered if it was even _right_ that I should try to fit in.

“Tell me what you are thinking,” he said, shifting so that he sat more comfortably beside me.

I frowned, closing my eyes.

“You don’t want to know.”

I felt his hands cup my face, then, and even as I was reopening my eyes, his lips pressed gently against my own. He moved back a little, gazing down at me, his thumbs stroking my skin.

“You will tell me when you are ready,” he said.

I nodded, for how could I refuse such a man? He was the only one who could make my heart turn over in my chest, could make the breath catch in my throat. I don’t think I could ever truly deny him anything, nor him me.

The first week passed less tediously than I would have anticipated. I could only manage to remain awake for an hour or so at a time. I would eat, talk a little, and be carried by my lover to the washroom if I needed it. I learned to grow past my humiliation; in my heart I knew that I would do the same for him, should he ever require it. Not that I could have ever carried him, of course, but the principle of the thought remained the same.

Towards the end of the first week, I could stay awake longer, and would spend a great deal of time reading. Nella kept me company, and so did all the girls, really. I even found myself becoming perhaps a little too involved in the so-called love lives of young Asgar and Inge. When Inge tearfully admitted that the boy she was fully in love with had made a smart comment about her over dinner the previous evening, I very nearly had her call in the guard, so that I could have the boy brought to me and dressed down accordingly. The three youngest went into a frenzy, declaring that they would surely die if I insisted upon doing such a thing. I managed to keep a straight face while allowing that, this time at least, I would let such behavior slide.

My tutors came to see me, Arum-Shei only once, though Baran and Illiana, my transfiguration tutor, saw me nearly every other day. In Arum-Shei’s defense, I could hardly practice destruction magic while in bed. Baran had me practice my shadow puppet king, which, not surprisingly, the actual king did not find particularly amusing when he happened to enter the bedroom one afternoon—poor Baran. Meanwhile, Illiana knew of my weakness when it came to focusing my abilities and had me attempt seemingly simple tasks, like trying to erase or add holes to a button. The effort often left me sweating, and remembering that I was not meant to overtax myself, I reluctantly would often have to end the lesson prematurely.

I’m sure Galmar chastised him for it, but the king ended his days earlier than usual and often lingered in bed in the morning beside me. We were gentle with our lovemaking. The healer had said nothing about abstaining, so far as I knew, but we both knew not to push things. I was back to bathing regularly again, though at first I had to be carried there each evening. It was a wonderful relief to wash my hair—or rather, to have it washed for me, initially—and it was nice to be able to look at my reflection without cringing once I’d finally managed to shave. I supposed Ulfric had been right about my growing a beard. Some Dunmer can grow neat, full, trim little beards, which I thought would have looked quite distinguished. But mine grew in fits and patches and made my face look as if it were forever recovering from some horrific disease. Which I suppose was rather apt.

I, of course, fretted about my inability to attend the weekly meetings at the Corner Club. Because it was technically state business, Ulfric assigned Una Stone-Fist to go in my stead. When I first heard the news, I was paralyzed with shock—there was surely no way the other Dunmer had taken kindly to the appearance of a Nord, and the daughter of a very powerful Nord at that. However, the king instructed her to report back to me after the meeting, and what she had to say, I’ll admit, reassured me.

“And they didn’t give you any trouble at all?” I asked, worrying the blanket between my fingers. I was sitting cross-legged in bed, various books and scrolls strewn about me.

Una, who was sitting on the chair which had been placed beside the bed for that purpose—she, unlike her younger sisters, had far too much dignity to climb onto the bed with me—smiled and rolled her eyes at me.

“They were fine,” she said. “They wanted to know what had happened to you, actually. That Suvaris woman was relieved to hear you were okay.”

I frowned, remembering how dismissive of my situation she’d been when we’d first met—when I was just 17, starving, without a septum to my name.

“I suppose people can change,” I allowed.

She laughed. “You’re too hard on them. And they were very pleased with the progression you’d made with their list. Well, I suppose some were expecting more, but overall everyone seemed quite satisfied.

“Really?” That seemed rather hard to believe.

  
“Really. To be honest, I’m a little jealous of you.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve been asking Father to let me try to do something similar—get involved in the running of the city, especially as I’m to assist Ania when she becomes jarl, just as Father assists Uncle Ulfric. I was pretty annoyed when I heard you’d been allowed to do this.”

It was a funny thought—to think that someone else, someone so privileged in life, envied me. It made me rethink my own situation to some degree, I’ll admit. I may not have been born into privilege, but my life had changed quite drastically in the last few years.

“I love it when you do that,” she said, startling me. She smiled. “Sorry. When you go quiet. I can tell you’re thinking. I—to be honest, I was relieved when Ania told me that Uncle Ulfric said you were to serve as her assistant someday as well. We’re really lucky to have you, Casien.”

“Well,” I said, trying not to blush at a compliment I certainly hadn’t seen coming, “Just so you know, I haven’t exactly agreed to do that. Plus I’d like a few more years of happiness with that uncle of yours before I start contemplating what my life will be like after he dies.”

She smiled. “Fair enough.”

My recovery continued to be a slow and relatively tedious process. The Stone-Fist girls kept me company, but I was restless. Even after I was allowed to move about on my own I was still forbidden from leaving the castle and going outdoors, regardless of what the temperature was like. I, who felt perfectly fine by that point, knew the restrictions were necessary, yet they still grated on me nonetheless.

And speaking of privilege—I learned I was the reason the trip south was to be delayed for at least two weeks.

“That’s ridiculous!”

I turned to stare incredulously at my lover, who was sitting in bed beside me, a writing lap desk before him with his lunch off to the side. Though I was no longer confined to the bed, it had sort of become my base of operations, and as I was not allowed to eat lunch in the jarl’s office anymore—it was considered ‘too drafty,’ which made me feel every bit the wilting invalid—he had gone back to eating lunch with me here, in our apartment. Only he often brought his paperwork with him, which I didn’t mind, for I knew he was exceedingly busy, and was simply glad for his company.

“It is not ridiculous,” came the distracted reply.

I glared at his profile, bent over the letter he was reading.

“So you’re saying that delaying the moot—an event that concerns _all of Skyrim_ —simply because some healer who thinks he knows more than anybody else says your lover—not even your _husband_ yet, I might add—can’t travel.”

“Yes.”

“And the other jarls will just _accept_ this? The people of Skyrim will accept this?”

He paused, then, looking up from his letter. A frown crossed his brow, and he seemed to gaze at me for a long while.

“You are upset that we are not married,” he finally said.

“What?!” I sputtered, for that had not been at ALL what I’d been talking about. “Why would I be upset? And what does that have to do with delaying the moot?”

“Casien.” He reached over and took my hand, surprising me. “Please believe me. I wish very much to be married to you. But I believe we should wait until after the moot.” He released my hand, a distracted look coming to his eyes. “The political situation is still very delicate. I cannot be seen to appear flippant or distracted. Skyrim has cast her gaze upon me; she cannot help it. And I am afraid I must perform for her.”

“So why take me at all?” I asked, surprised by how hurt this made me feel, when, in all honesty, I hadn’t given our extended betrothal much thought. “Especially now, when it might be weeks before the healer says I can even go outside.”

“Because it is important for them to see you. When they hear that I intend to marry, they will want to know to whom.”

“…And it will matter that I’m not a Nord,” I finished. “And that I’m mer.”

“Yes,” he said, and I don’t know why I was surprised by his honesty. He was only ever honest with me.

“But you said it wouldn’t matter. Back in Winterhold, you said that no one would go to war over the new High King wedding a Dunmer.”

“I am not so much worried about war, little roebuck, so you may set your mind at ease on that account. But the people should still see you. They should have confidence in my choice.”

“You mean your political enemies should have confidence in your choice.”

“That is likely true as well. I’ll not give them any reason to destroy Skyrim’s newfound stability.”

I supposed his reasoning made sense. The spouse of a jarl was not an unimportant person within the sphere of Skyrim politics. Jarl Elisif, after all, had risen to her position simply by being the widow of the previous jarl. Of course the other jarls would want to know who I was, what I was like—and to whom I vowed my allegiance.

“Ah. This letter is addressed to you,” said the king, pausing as he shuffled through his documents. I looked up, surprised. “I do not know why Jorleif gave it to me.”

He handed me the letter, and I took it, expecting one of my professors, perhaps. But it wasn’t from any of them.

“…It’s from Eleanor!” I cried.

I tore the envelope open, careful not to tear the letter itself. We had written to one another a few times since I’d returned to Windhelm, but our correspondence had lagged of late. I wondered if perhaps she had news of Nirya and Onmund, but it was even better than that.

_Dear Casien,_

_How are you? Brelyna and I are both well. We’re not so lonely during lunch and dinner anymore, for we’ve adopted two more apprentices, now that you and Nirya and Onmund have deserted us. One is a Khajiit girl with the prettiest blue eyes named Elaahni; she’s very shy but very bright, and apparently her family are very proud she was accepted here. The other is a human boy from Rorikstead; he says he knew Onmund, and that Onmund running away to the college is what gave him the courage to do the same. Only he didn’t run away; his family were apparently perfectly fine with him coming here. He’s fiercely good at enchanting and I think will give Nirya a run for her septums someday._

_Have you spoken to Hanna or Ysme recently? There’s another reason we’re not so lonely during lunch. Hanna decided to leave the army and apply to be a guard here at the college. Ysme was dreadfully angry at her for it, but I think she understood. No, I don’t mean it’s all on my account. The war’s over now, and I think it must be rather boring to be a scout when there isn’t any war. Hanna says Ysme’s been assigned a new partner, but she doesn’t know anything about him, other than that he’s young, maybe even younger than me._

_But here is the truly good news: Professor Urag has charged me with the task to travel to Whiterun!! I am to record the events of the moot for prosperity. I asked if Brelyna could accompany me, and Professor Mirabelle said yes!! We won’t leave for some time, for spring comes so very late here in Winterhold. We are to travel with the jarl and his party. I’m certain we’ll see you in Whiterun! I can’t imagine you’re ready to let your own jarl run off by himself again._

_How is your training coming? I heard from some of the others that Arum-Shei is the worst. Is he as bad as everyone says? I only hear good things about Baran Ayleid and Illiana Vadicci though._

_See you soon! Or, well, relatively soon._

_Love,_

_Eleanor_

“They’re coming to Whiterun!” I said, reaching out and grabbing my lover’s arm as I quickly rescanned the letter to make sure I didn’t miss anything.

When he didn’t answer, I turned and looked at him. He looked up from whatever he was reading, to his arm, then to me.

“And who is ‘they’?” he asked.

“Eleanor and Brelyna!” I released his arm and scooted closer to him, holding the letter between us. “See, she says Professor Urag wants her to record what happens at the moot. I suppose that makes sense. And she’s bringing Brelyna with her. Oh, and Hanna quit the army and is working at the college now, but I guess you know that already.” I blinked. “Wait—If you knew, why didn’t you tell me!”

“I did not…” He paused, frowning. “Who is Hanna?”

I stared at him, unable to believe I heard what he’d just said.

“Hanna,” I finally said. “My friend? She was one of the scouts you assigned to escort me to Winterhold.”

“The ones who allowed you to be attacked by wolves.”

“They didn’t _allow_ me to be attacked. I told you, that was my fault. And Hanna and Ysme also helped save everyone after Malyn’s attack.”

“I see.”

I waited to see if he would say more, then gave him an exaggerated, expectant look.

“You could always go with ‘I’m so happy you’re going to see your friends again, Casien’,” I said.

He frowned. “Of course I am happy for you.”

In fairness, I didn’t really know what it is I wanted from him. To show at least a little interest in my life, perhaps, in the things and people that made me happy. Finally, though, I sighed, and, moving away from him, folded up my letter and slid off the side of the bed.

“I’m disturbing you,” I said. I bent to grab one of my books along with an apple and the rest of my meat pie. “I’ll go and finish my lunch in the library.”

“You are not disturbing me,” he replied, but I already had my back to him, and, grabbing my cloak mainly so I wouldn’t be scolded for not doing so, pulled on my boots and left the apartment.

The library was not empty, and I had to endure the simpering greetings and smiles of two women who had traveled all the way from Markath. They were, they assured me, prominent merchants from that great city, and had a keen interest in who should be appointed jarl. Perhaps if I could speak to Ulfric on their behalf…?

“We’re not talking right now,” I said, walking over to my favorite chair by the window and flopping down into it. I opened my book and pretend to read, pretending also that I couldn’t hear their murmurs to one another as they left the room.

“Well, they _did_ say he was very young,” said one.

“I think I should start a war, too, if it would get me away from such a spoiled creature,” tittered the other.

I rolled my eyes and tried not to think about the implications of what they were saying. But it was hard not to. I was long past doubting whether the king and I belonged together; I certainly didn’t doubt his love for me—not for a moment. But it was hard not to reflect on the great differences between us, not only in terms of race and country of origin, or even in social station, but in age, too. He was nearly twenty years my senior. But was I the spoiled child, throwing a tantrum for not getting my way? Or was he not the stubborn old bear who coddled his young lover but didn’t truly see him as an equal?

Perhaps it was a little bit of both. I confess the thought did not sit well with me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, _Casien_. [rolls eyes]


	4. Chapter 4

There are few things more humiliating than storming out of the bedroom to escape one’s partner, only to have to eventually come crawling back by the end of the day, for the fact that Ulfric and I shared the same bed was a rather inescapable fact—and not one that I generally objected to, I might add. I actually contemplated hunkering down in my old room for the night, the one which was unofficially assigned to the jarl’s personal servant. Only he didn’t have one, now that I had ‘retired,’ so the room currently lay empty. There was a bed, but I don’t think it even had sheets.

I also thought of the gossip that would circulate should it be discovered that I hadn’t slept in our bed. I confess the thought made me shudder far more than the thought of having to confront my own lover and apologize for my childish behavior.

It was far past dinner, and the guard standing post outside the door gave me an odd look as I came reluctantly creeping forward.

“Everything’s my fault, and we’re NOT arguing,” I said, although I can’t think for the life of me why I felt the need to explain.

He blinked, clearly confused. “Whatever you say.”

His expression changed, though, just as I opened the door. I think it finally clicked, his mouth falling open a little, but by then I had already entered and closed the door behind me.

I had hoped to find my lover already asleep; then I could crawl silently into bed beside him and put the whole thing off until the morning. Maybe I’d even wake up with his arms around me, and then he would be sure to forgive me.

But I was out of luck. Well, he was asleep, but he wasn’t in bed.

The sound of the door closing seemed to startle him awake; his head lifted off the back of the plush sitting room chair he was sitting in, a soft snort escaping him. The pile of documents that had been sitting in his lap fell to the floor, jarred by the sudden movement. I hurried forward to pick them up.

As I hastily shuffled them together, the topmost one caught my eye. The words “Gray Quarter Demands” were written across the top of the page in the king’s neat script, and there were figures, graphs, and even notes scrawled into the margins, including mentions of certain noble families. I wondered if he had finally managed to secure a meeting with them—and that’s when I felt myself suddenly flush. Had he been working on this while I was away all day?

He took the papers from me when I straightened and handed them to him, a frown on his tired face.

“By the Nine,” he rumbled, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand. “What is the time?”

“It’s nearly midnight, I think,” I said.

I was tired, too, but I had also taken one of the longest naps imaginable in one of the empty guest rooms on the second floor. When I awoke, a blanket had been placed over me. I suspected Griselda, for no one else would have entered such a room, and she was well aware of my slow recovery from my recent dangerous illness.

After a moment’s hesitation (which involved a great deal of cheek-biting and hand-twisting) I sat down on the arm of the chair, kicking my boots off so I could tuck my feet between my lover’s body and the side of the large chair.

“Look,” I said, gazing down at my fingers as I spoke, “I just… wanted to say I’m sorry. I acted really stupid at lunch. I acted like a child, and you shouldn’t have to put up with that, and I… I’m sorry, that’s all.”

When he didn’t immediately respond, I somehow summoned the courage to lift my head and meet his eyes. He was gazing back at me, and I could tell he was tired, but then he just sighed.

“Casien…” He laid the papers aside, then took my hands, pulling me gently forward.

“No…” I groaned, “You can’t pull me into your lap after what I just said!”

“I am the king,” he said, and I’m not entirely sure he was joking. “I can do whatever I want.”

“I want a divorce,” I said, scrunching up my face.

“We are not yet married. And you would have to prove my infidelity to you, or else defeat me in combat.”

I blinked. “Really?” Nords really do take things _way_ too seriously sometimes, I thought.

“Really.”

I sighed and obliged him, shuffling my feet so that I could sit more easily across his lap. I looped my arm over his shoulder, sliding my fingers absently through his hair, and he put his own arm around my waist.

“I was distracted during lunch,” he said, his eyes meeting mine. “You were not disturbing me, but there is a great deal that must be seen to before we leave for Whiterun. Now—if you are ready to tell me, I would like to know more about your friends, Eleanor and Hanna.”

“And Brelyna,” I said without thinking, “And Ysme. And Nirya and Onmund, though you didn’t meet them, and—” I groaned, closing my eyes briefly and resting my forehead against the side of his head. “Are you sure? It’s late. I know you’re trying to please me. But I’m not a child, honestly, I don’t need to talk about my friends.”

“No, but I would like to hear about them, just the same.”

So I huffed out a little laugh, shifted so that I could lean against him more comfortably, and began to talk about my dearest friends. I told him about Eleanor, how clever she was, but how little self-confidence she sometimes had. How she seemed older than her nineteen years, and that she was sort of the leader of our little group at the college. Then I told him about sweet Brelyna, who had gifted me the little wooden star chain I still wore around my neck, who was a budding genius at transfiguration, and whose barrier had saved us from Malyn’s attack. I talked about Nirya’s seeming aloofness, Onmund’s remarkable healing abilities, Ysme’s good humor, and Hanna’s good sense and ability to strategize.

“She’s the reason we were able to defeat Malyn’s mercenaries,” I said, my eyes closed at this point, though my fingers still absently playing through his hair. “That was a terrible battle. I don’t know how we got through it. Nirya was injured very badly, but Onmund saved her.”

“That is fortunate. It is never easy to lose a friend in battle.”

I guessed he would know rather a lot about that. He never talked about his experiences in war, though, and I never asked him. The scars told me all I needed to know—that, and the missing faces at the dinner table, down where the soldiers all sat. I had met some of those generals only once, and realizing that I would never see some again left a rather small ache in my heart. I could only imagine what he must have felt.

I didn’t realize I had started to fall asleep until I felt his arm around me tighten, the other slipping under my knees as he rose up out of the chair.

“You’ll hurt your back,” I mumbled, for he had been complaining of lower back pain recently, but he just hummed under his breath the way he always did when I chastised him. He brought me into the bedroom and set me down; I don’t even think I opened my eyes as I undressed and shifted under the bedsheets and furs. He surprised me, getting into bed behind me, once he undressed, instead of on his own side, curling an arm around me and pulling me close against him.

“I was joking about divorcing you,” I said into the darkness, as the warmth of sleep began to overcome me. “I don’t want to divorce you.”

“I know,” he replied, his breath puffing against my hair.

I wanted to say something about how good he was for putting up with my foolishness, but I couldn’t keep the thoughts in my head clear long enough to do so. Within seconds, I was asleep.

//

Nearly a month had passed before the healer pronounced me fit for travel. I complained about his reticence, but deep down I understood his caution. Skyrim weather was unpredictable, and being more susceptible to fever than most meant I should avoid being caught in a late snowstorm or heavy downpour until I was fully recovered. I understood Ulfric’s reasons for taking me with him to Whiterun, too, and though I hated playing politics, I knew my part had to be played.

Galmar, of course, was to come with us, as were his two eldest daughters. I was surprised that Ania’s intended, Hellina, would also be traveling with us, but just as it was important for people to see me, so it was important for people to see the wife of the future jarl of Windhelm. Still, I had a feeling they would have a much easier time stomaching a Nord girl than a Dunmer lad. Of course, at the time I knew very little of Hellina and where she had come from; she and Ania had been together for as long as I had known them, and I never imagined there was any controversy inherent in their relationship.

The morning of our departure, I was very anxious, trying to determine what I should bring with me. There were items I couldn’t bear to leave, such as my books, especially those that were related to my studies, and items that I knew I shouldn’t leave, such as extra clothing in case the weather should grow unexpectedly cold. I asked repeatedly what the weather was like in Whiterun, but the only responses I ever received were always along the lines of ‘quite a bit warmer.’ Finally, Lia told me I was being ridiculous, that if I needed more clothing while in Whiterun I could easily purchase the items I required. This was sound advice yet did little to settle my nerves, which I suspect were rooted in more than just clothing and books.

I fretted over what the other jarls, generals, and nobles would think of me. I feared, too, how we would be received in Whiterun, which had had only a year to recover from the Stormcloak invasion. Being the beloved of the man who initiated that invasion made me uneasy, for all I understood and to some degree supported his cause.

As for my traveling woes, I soon had my mind settled upon realizing that a jarl travels very differently when he is traveling with his army during war, and when he is traveling as a visiting dignitary with only a handful of soldiers. In essence, there would be wagons as well as horses, and I would be allowed an entire trunk as opposed to a mere saddlebag. I confess the news relieved me a little bit more than it probably should have.

“You’ve packed more than Una or Ania and Hellina,” observed Nella, who was perched on the bed watching as I methodically filled up my trunk with my belongings.

“You’re trying to make me feel bad,” I said, as I dumped in another armful of books. “It’s not going to work.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Why are you bringing _books_ to a moot?”

“Let me guess. Your sisters would _never_ bring books to a moot.”

“Or anywhere, really,” she agreed. “They aren’t in school anymore. I still am, but I still wouldn’t bring any books with me if _I_ were allowed to travel to Whiterun.”

After I had filled it with as much as I possibly could, I slapped the lid shut and even had to sit down on top of it so I could secure the latch.

“So…” I grunted, trying to press more of my weight down, “What _are_ your sisters bringing?”

“Well, lots of armor, of course, and weapons, and clothes for formal stuff, like meetings and dinners and such. Hellina has _ever_ so many pretty dresses. She says there are going to be dances, especially during Second Planting.”

“Well, apparently jarls don’t dance, so I won’t have to worry about that.”

“Some jarls dance. Uncle Ulfric is just shy about things like that. Ania and Hellina are very good dancers. Una’s all right. I’m _amazing_.”

I chuckled, finally managing to secure the latch. “I’m sure you are.”

She sat up a little. “I could teach you, you know. Maybe you could dance with Una if Uncle Ulfric won’t dance with you.”

“All right,” I said, smiling, thinking only to indulge her.

She grinned and hopped off the bed, coming over to me and, folding one arm over her middle, sketched me a solemn bow.

“You’re supposed to bow, too,” she said.

“Oh, right,” I said, and did so.

She offered me her hand, and I took it, then we began to turn in a circle, occasionally shifting hands and directions. She counted the rhythm as we did: _‘And one, and two, and three, and four, and switch!’_ mimicking her dancing teacher, no doubt. It was difficult for me to keep the smile from my face. She came forward and put her hands on my waist, but paused, her eyes meeting mine.

“I’m supposed to lift you, but I think you’re too heavy,” she said.

I laughed. “How about I do it?” So I lifted her up by the waist and twirled her around; she squealed and laughed, telling me that would have been a terribly vulgar thing to do, and that I would have been shunned from all social events ever after for sure.

I put her down, laughing, though pausing abruptly when I saw the jarl leaning in the doorframe of the bedroom, watching us.

“We were just, ah, practicing,” I said, smiling, even though I could feel the blush on my cheeks.

He nodded at my trunk. “Are you finished packing?”

I said that I was, but before he could send Nella to fetch a pair of servants, I hesitantly suggested that a pair of soldiers might have more success in lifting and carrying my trunk down to the yard. He dryly agreed, and within minutes, once I had finished dressing for the journey, the three of us led the way downstairs, the two poor soldiers behind us lugging my trunk between them.

“I do believe there are books in Whiterun,” the king said, as we watched the soldiers heft my trunk into the back of the wagon.

The observation left me nearly catatonic with wonder. “Sweet Azura,” I whispered, already envisioning the great library of Dragonsreach. I would have to secure a second trunk!

“I should not have said anything,” my lover muttered. Behind us, Nella giggled.

The riding stables were next, and I couldn’t help thinking of the last time I had departed these stables, when I had helped to arm the king in preparation for war. It had been a solemn, painful experience, and I remembered his large hands gently cradling my face, our foreheads touching. I didn’t know in that moment if this would be the last day I ever saw him.

In comparison, today was a much more exciting, even joyous experience—Nella’s continued complaints about not being able to come with us notwithstanding. The horses were led out, and I was surprised to see the same gray gelding who had carried me all the way to Winterhold.

“I didn’t think I’d see _you_ again,” I said, smiling as he shoved his soft nose into my hand and blew air into my palm.

Nella pointed out the brand on his flank, which all the jarl’s horses bore, and though I winced to see it, I realized it was a common practice. This way a horse from Windhelm could travel all across Skyrim, and those in charge of such things would know to always send it back here. Horses were not a cheap commodity in Skyrim, so I supposed it made sense.

Ulfric held the bridle for me as I mounted, though not before I hugged Nella good-bye, of course. Asgar and Inge, who were with their mother and sisters, saw me and waved; I waved back, Nella running back to hug her sisters as well. Once I was secure, Ulfric mounted his own black warhorse, the sister to the one he had ridden out on a year ago. That one had fallen in battle during the dreadful clash between Stormcloaks and Imperials that had resulted in the king’s horrific, life-threatening injury. The mare was just as spirited as her brother, stomping the muddy yard with her sharp hoofs and tossing her head. It made me glad for my placid old gelding.

Once the rest of the company were mounted, we began to head out. Our procession through the city was far less formal; I rode beside Ulfric, and there were a few stray soldiers behind us before Galmar and his daughters and future daughter-in-law, the four of them talking and laughing amongst themselves. A few people lined the streets or paused in what they were doing and waved at us. I waved back, especially at the children, and especially at the elven children. I saw and heard one little Bosmer girl tug at her mother’s skirt and ask, “Mama, who is that?” and felt myself warm with pride when she responded, “The jarl’s future husband, dear heart.”

We paused as we exited the city, stopping before the stone bridge which stretched across the river, swollen and raging now with melted snow.

“Are you cold?” asked the king, studying me with a critical eye.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m fine. What are we stopping for?”

He nodded off in the distance at the pair of soldiers who were riding up to meet us, my heart leaping in my chest with surprise and joy when I recognized one of them.

“My king,” said Ysme, pressing fist to chest with her free hand, the young man beside her doing the same. “The road is clear for now. Skies are calm, too. We should have a clear path, at least until nightfall.”

“Good,” said the king.

Ysme glanced at me, a smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. I grinned back. She and the boy with her then turned their horses around and trotted off ahead of us. I soon learned that, while we traveled, they would remain always a little bit ahead of us, serving as scouts and ready to relay signs of any danger should they encounter it. But at noon and in the evening they would join us as we made camp, which meant I would get to talk and catch up with my friend.

“Thank you,” I said to the king, as we urged our horses forward.

He cast a sideways glance at me, catching my goofy smile, and snorted under his breath, but didn’t otherwise respond.

Judging by the movement of the sun across the spring sky, we traveled for about four hours straight before we paused to make camp for lunch. It was an interesting sort of organized chaos to watch, and I had a feeling our final stop for the evening would be even more so. Galmar stalked about the clearing, ordering soldiers to attend to various tasks. The king saw to his own mount first before helping me with mine, but he didn’t stand idly by and watch the proceedings. He kicked out a little space for a fire, and once some of the soldiers returned with wood to burn, assisted in building it up. He then helped skin and prepare the deer Ysme had brought down, slicing the meat and arranging it over the fire.

Once I had my slice of cooked meat, I took it and my water canteen and went to sit down beside my friend.

“Hello,” I said, grinning. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Well, I suppose I have _you_ to thank for this assignment,” she said, but I could tell she was joking, and then I made her introduce me to her new partner.

“Oh, that? That’s just Torbin, useless man-child.”

“It’s all right,” he said, when I must have given Ysme a chastising look, “She always talks about me like that. I’m used to it now.”

He was a very handsome young fellow, with a shock of black hair, bright blue eyes, and a ready smile. Eleanor was right; he couldn’t be more than eighteen, but I supposed he must have proven himself capable to be assigned as Ysme’s new partner.

“She just misses Hanna, I’m sure,” I said to him, ignoring his partner’s dramatically rolling eyes as she ripped the meat off the bone with her teeth. “She’s taking her grief out on you.”

“And I’ve told her a thousand times I know I can never live up to her old partner,” he said, sobering. “I can only try to learn what I can from one of the jarl’s best scouts.”

“Well, now I think you’re just mean to him so he’ll keep complimenting you like that,” I said, and she guffawed, nearly choking on her lunch.

“I asked Ysme if it would be okay to ask you this,” said Torbin after a few friendly minutes had passed between us, “And she didn’t say I _shouldn’t_ , so…” He paused, lowering his voice. “What’s the jarl really like?”

I blinked at him. “What do you mean?”

“I mean… I’ve only seen him from a distance. I never imagined I’d be some day traveling in the same party as him, or talking to his… uh, you know.”

I tried to suppress my laughter. “I see. Well, what do you want to know?”

“Anything! Like… Does he snore? Talk in his sleep? What’s his favorite thing to eat?”

“Please say it’s you,” said Ysme, so I pinched her thigh rather viciously, making her squawk.

“Really?” I asked, turning to Torbin, with a slightly disbelieving smile. “Most people want to know about his fighting style or which type of blade he prefers.”

He made a scoffing sound. “That stuff’s boring. I want to know what he’s like.” He held out his hands dramatically. “Who is Ulfric Stormcloak—the man?”

Both Ysme and I doubled over with laughter, much to his chagrined smile, but I was kind enough to answer his questions as best I could. Yes, he sometimes snores, though not too loudly. He definitely talks in his sleep, and his favorite food was probably any sort of sweet baked good. As for hobbies, he didn’t have much spare time, but he liked to read—favorite subjects? Folk tales, histories, and mythologies.

“Favorite color?” asked Torbin, chewing thoughtfully on the last bit of his lunch.

“I wish I could say it wasn’t blue, but I think it is.”

“Break time’s over!” cried Galmar, rising to his feet and addressing the rest of the camp. “Mount up!”

“Great, because this is the most boring conversation I’ve ever had,” said Ysme.

I snorted and gave her a playful little shove before going to rejoin the jarl, who only arched a curious eyebrow at me. I just shrugged and smiled, and mounted my horse.

We traveled until the sun began to set, and even before it had dipped fully behind the mountains, we had already set up camp for the night. At such a slow pace, I wondered just how long it would take us to reach Whiterun. In general, the trip from Windhelm to Whiterun could take anywhere from two to three weeks, but that was on account of very treacherous terrain, and depending on the time of year, even more treacherous weather. The distance between Windhelm and Whiterun was far greater, but once we passed through the mountains, the terrain was nearly flat, and the weather would likely be calmer than anything I was even used to.

But I didn’t mind the slow pace. It was leisurely, and I enjoyed being outdoors again, though I missed my nightly baths mightily, along with my soft bed and meals that included anything other than cooked meat and whatever berries and mushrooms the soldiers could gather. And I enjoyed talking to Ysme, too, and getting to know young Torbin. I spoke to Ania, Hellina, and Una, too, of course, though perhaps not as much as I would have liked, initially. Ania in particular was a little intimidating, and spent much of her time with the other soldiers. Una was rather taciturn, and she and Hellina appeared to be rather good friends. It was often hard to find space for myself among the three of them.

And, of course, I enjoyed spending time with the king. We rode most often together, though I felt odd riding at the head of the company. He rarely initiated conversation, other than to ask me how I felt, if I were cold, or if I needed anything. I bore such attentions graciously enough. His concern was charming, and I no longer found it stifling the way I sometimes had back at the castle. Occasionally he would point out landmarks to me, or rare sightings of wildlife, or unusual cloud and weather formations.

And night, his tent was naturally the largest, and I felt awkward as I entered it, knowing the soldiers slept three and four to a tent, and on rough bedrolls at that. But no one complained; indeed, I was surprised that first night by how lively the camp was, fires dotting the clearing here and there, soldiers passing bottles around and laughing uproariously at one another’s jokes. I was tired, still unused to travel, and used to my early bedtimes, too, so I disappeared inside the newly erected massive tent. There was, of course, a cheerful little fire at the center, and one of the soldiers and I had laid out a few rugs before laying out the bedrolls and supplies.

“For your benefit, I imagine,” said the soldier, nodding at one of the rugs, which were neither plush nor fancy, but were nonetheless colorful and far more comfortable than the bare ground. “Don’t know him to usually travel with ‘em as such.”

“Well, I’m not complaining,” I said, though I hoped the low lighting disguised my slight embarrassment.

The man nodded and gave a little absent salute, which startled me, before turning and ducking out of the tent, leaving me to myself. I took a deep breath and let it out before going to my things and pulling out a book, then flopping down on my bedroll.

A few minutes later, the king entered, carrying a pair of tin plates, heaped with freshly-cooked meat and a few roasted potatoes.

I sat up, and he sat down beside me, handing me one of the plates while settling down next to me.

“You don’t wish to eat outside, with the others?” he asked before taking a bite of his roasted pheasant haunch.

I shook my head, poking at my potato. “I’m too tired. I’ll probably just read a bit before going to bed.”

I could hear the raucous sounds of laughter and conversation from outside, and when he didn’t immediately answer, I looked up from my plate. He was looking at me, his brow slightly furrowed, concern etched into his features.

“What?” I asked.

He frowned and sighed, shaking his head slightly.

“You _will_ tell me if you are unwell,” he said, his low voice making the statement more of a command than a question.

I blinked. “Of course.”

I watched him for a moment, as he returned to his food, his brow still slightly furrowed. That’s when I realized how truly hard he had taken my recent illness. _I thought I might lose you_ , he’d said to me that first morning, and I hadn’t put much thought into the words until now. Yes, I’d known I’d been lucky, though the threat of me succumbing to the fever hadn’t been all _that_ high: I was young, and healthy, and under good care. But how my lover must have suffered those six days, as my body tried to desperately overcome the virus’s iron grip.

I put down my plate and shifted closer to him, resting my hand gently on his arm.

“Ulfric,” I said.

Our eyes met—his were so blue, the color of the sky in Windhelm on a rare, cloudless summer’s day.

“I’m all right,” I said, squeezing his arm. “I promise I’ll tell you if I feel otherwise. I _promise_.”

After a moment, he nodded. He lay his hand briefly over mine before returning to his dinner. I did the same, though I stayed sitting close beside him, our shoulders and thighs touching. When I finished, I set my plate down and leaned against him, my eyes drooping as I watched the fire. He put an arm around me, his fingers absently rubbing and tickling my side. Being close to him was always a gamble as far as my body was concerned, and I sleepily thought it a shame we couldn’t—

“Oh,” I said, my eyes widening slightly, for his fingers had sneaked themselves up under my tunic, where they now caressed my skin, my stomach fluttering lightly.

“Um, I don’t think…” I began, trying not to squirm.

“You don’t want to?” he murmured against my ear, which he then kissed before moving along my jawline.

“Well, I do, but I—ahh, what if someone comes in while we’re…?

He pulled back so that our eyes could meet.

“They won’t,” he assured me. “Unless something of dire importance has occurred. And no one save Galmar would enter the jarl’s tent without permission, and he will not do so. Not when you are with me.”

“…Oh,” I said, and I could feel myself blushing, for it was a little embarrassing to know that everyone around us was probably expecting us to have sex, and lots of it.

He gave a low, rumbling little laugh, at my expense, I know, but I could tell it was not meant to be malicious. He sighed, then, before bending his head again, teasing my mouth open with his own.

“The gods have been so very good to me,” he murmured huskily before resuming the kiss, and I couldn’t help but think that they had been very good to us both.

Sometime later, I lay out on our bedroll, blinking sleepily up at my lover as he stretched and reached for his tunic. It was still early, and though I was tired, I knew he wasn’t.

“You’re going back out?” I asked, making a face.

“Would you like to come?” he asked, glancing at me as he finished dressing.

I yawned. “I don’t think I’d make it past the tent. Oh, gods…” I groaned and pressed my hand against my face. “They’re going to tease you about us. Promise not to say anything.”

“They will not tease their jarl about his love life. Not if they value their lives.”

I rolled my eyes. “Please. When has Galmar shown you even an _ounce_ of deference.”

He actually grinned at me in the dark, the cheeky bastard, before bending down, placing a kiss on my brow, and exiting the tent. The sounds of raucous cheering made me groan again and turn to hide my face against the bedding, doing my best to stuff my fingers into my ears. I suppose that was how I learned that among soldiers the concept of modesty is virtually nonexistent.

My embarrassment notwithstanding, I was too tired to stay up much longer, and was long since fallen asleep by the time he returned to me. I slept deeply, my body comfortable, sated, and eventually warmed once my lover rejoined me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STILL SO FLUFFY. Don't worry, things will actually start to happen... eventually :P


	5. Chapter 5

It was astonishing to watch the land change before my very eyes as we traveled further and further south. At first it was the trees. There are trees in Windhelm, of course, but they seem to want to keep their distance from one another, as if it’s bad tree etiquette to sprout too close to one of your fellows. In the south, the trees crowd up against one another, branches sometimes interlocking, dead trees leaning against live ones, small animals leaping from one tree to the next without ever touching the ground.

And the animals! Foxes, rabbits, birds, deer of every kind—yes, even the occasional shy little roe deer—I never tired of trying to discern what creatures were peeping out at us as we passed, nor did my ears tire of the near constant birdsong above.

The terrain was less rocky, too, and our pace quickened once the horses were allowed to stretch out their legs as the land began to flatten out before us. There was a moment when I looked out around me and realized I didn’t see a bit of snow, not in the trees, not anywhere. I knew in the back of my mind that they still capped the low mountains in the distance, but the trees hid even those from view.

The weather was still cool enough for me to keep my cloak about my shoulders; I would have doubtlessly faced an inquiry from the jarl had I attempted to remove it anyway. But I had always felt the cold a bit more than most; around me, the soldiers rolled up their sleeves and tossed their cloaks over their shoulders. They laughed and joked amongst one another, the calm, gentle weather seeming to lighten their spirits.

The days seemed longer, too, though perhaps that was only my imagination. I found my travel legs, three or four days into the journey, and was happy to enjoy my dinner outside with the others instead of retiring early to my bedroll. I sat with the jarl at first, of course, then, when I realized Ysme and Torbin were never going to presume to join us, I joined them. I managed to meet several of the other soldiers like this, and I would occasionally catch the jarl glancing in my direction, no doubt wondering what we were talking about. _He’s only jealous_ , chortled Ysme, but Una, who came to sit by me one evening, told me she thought he was worried.

“You don’t know what he was like when you were ill,” she said, keeping her voice low. “It was terrible to see.”

I sighed, gazing down at the bowl of hot stew in my hands. This constant worrying of his on my behalf—it just wouldn’t do. It made me think of what Una’s father had said about me, about my being a dangerous distraction for the jarl, and that prediction had proved apt, apparently, as my lover had become grievously injured after falling in a battle he should have been better prepared for.

Soft, rolling hills soon turned to golden fields. Within a day or two, the king informed me, we would start to encounter the first settlements and farmsteads. I admit my nerves took refuge in my stomach again, putting me off my meals a bit. At least people in Windhelm _knew_ me, and they, with the exception of the Dunmer and perhaps the Argonians, loved their jarl. The people of Whiterun did _not_ know me, nor did they have any great love for Ulfric Stormcloak. How would they feel about a poor Dunmer—one who had not even been born here—marrying their future High King?

“So it’s true what everyone says about you,” said Hellina, laughing gently as I joined her for dinner—it was to be our final night under the stars, for tomorrow we were sure to reach Whiterun. “You really do worry about everything.”

I made a face as I picked at my roasted pheasant—I was getting a little tired of meat, meat, and more meat, to be honest.

“I don’t worry about _every_ thing,” I said. “And trust me, I’m a lot better now than I used to be. I just… I mean, don’t you think about it sometimes? What people will think of you, or what sort of person you have to be to them, all on account of who you love?”

She shrugged. “Not really. But then, Ania won’t be jarl for a very long time, Nine willing.” She cast me a sly look. “And besides—I’m not an elf.”

I gave a little huff of a laugh, surprised by her honesty. “It’s funny. In Windhelm, people hate me automatically because of what I am. But in Whiterun, people will hate Ulfric because of who _he_ is, and what he did, and I’m just… collateral, I guess.”

She laughed. “That’s a legal term, isn’t it? Goodness, you’re clever.”

I wasn’t used to thinking of myself as clever, so the compliment stumped me for a moment. A silence fell between us, and we both watched the sparring that was taking place on the outskirts of camp. I think nerves were a little high, so Ysme had rounded up the two Stone-Fist girls and was practicing with them, first having them come at her one at a time, then both at once. It was fascinating to watch, for, strong as Ania was, for instance, she couldn’t match Ysme’s speed and quick-thinking. Torbin was watching from the sidelines and cheering his partner along, and before long, several other soldiers came to join him.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” said Hellina after a moment, and I turned to glance at her. She watched them for a moment before meeting my gaze, smiling.

“Yes,” I finally said, smiling and looking back at the others. “I suppose they are.”

Each woman had a particular style, and it was truly fascinating to watch. Ania was bold, and sure of her movements, which were fluid yet iron-strong. Una was a little more rusty than her sister, yet her attacks were even more ferocious. Ysme moved like lightning, sometimes laughing, calling out playful insults as well as encouragement.

“Why don’t you join them?” Hellina asked.

I started and looked at her again, blinking.

She smiled and nodded at the sword and dagger at my belt. “You carry a pair of weapons. I understand you know how to use them, too.”

“Well… maybe,” I said. “But that doesn’t mean I’m any good. I mean, not like _that_.”

“Ania says you fought a group of mercenaries near Winterhold. She said you used magic as well as your blades.”

“…Yes…” I stammered, feeling my face flush pink, for all the Stone-Fist girls had pressured me to tell that story again and again, to the point where I began to feel embarrassed by it. “But that was mostly luck.”

Her smile turned indulgent, and I reflected briefly on the fact that she was a little older than me. Not quite the same difference in age as that between myself and the king, but still—poor Ania.

“I don’t think that’s the case,” she said.

“What about you?” I asked. Deflection—a tried and true defense mechanism. “Why don’t _you_ join them?”

She laughed. “I’m no fighter.”

“But I thought all Nords knew how to handle a blade.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t know how to fight,” she said, smiling that sly smile of hers. “Only that I don’t wish to.”

 _Well, I don’t wish to either_ , I wanted to say, but for some reason I didn’t. We both fell back to watching the others; Ysme was now pitting the two sisters against one another, and here it was clear that Ania was the superior warrior. She didn’t go easy on her sister, either, which I knew Una appreciated—Nords were a proud people, after all. I can admit that in that moment I felt a little guilty for letting my own skills go lax. Galmar’s lessons had saved my life, after all, and…

“Who’s next?!” cried Ania, raising her shield and sword and grinning at the surrounding soldiers.

Una, conceding defeat, flopped back down on the sidelines, panting and grinning and shaking her head. The soldiers nearest her slapped her on the back, laughing.

“Over here!!” called Hellina, cupping her hands around her mouth and waving.

Ysme looked over in our direction.

“No,” I said, but my throat had gone suddenly dry, and the word barely managed to squeak out.

“Casien!” said Ysme, grinning. “Get over here and show us what you can do with those little needles at your belt.”

I was mildly affronted, for there was no need to insult the fact that I carried a short sword instead of a regular blade. Most Nords were tall and strong, but not all; I was not the only one to wield such a weapon.

“Perhaps Uncle was right,” said Ania. “Perhaps he really is too sickly to fight.”

I was on my feet before I even knew what I was doing. I heard a raucous cheer go up from the soldiers, and behind Ania I could see Ysme still standing there with her hands on her hips, grinning. _Teach her a lesson!_ one of the soldiers yelled, and Ania turned to grin and send a rude hand gesture in his general direction. _You can do it!_ cried another, _Make Ulfric proud!_ However, as it was met with renewed rounds of laughter, I’m fairly certain it was more in jest than anything.

I had never really noticed how much taller Ania was than me. Her father, of course, towered over me, but even Lia was taller than I was. Galmar’s eldest took after him in more than looks—they both had that wild, untamable dark, brown hair and icy, blue eyes—but she was similarly broad across the shoulders and kept her center of gravity low. The muscles in her right arm bunched briefly as she twirled her sword, and she smirked as our eyes met.

“Right,” she said, “We’ll have to make this quick. Uncle and Father will be out here any second, I’m sure.”

For Galmar and the king were in the latter’s tent, no doubt discussing tomorrow’s plans. And I knew full well what she meant. Ulfric’s recent protective streak towards me probably wouldn’t be able to stand letting me work up a sweat in the makeshift spar yard.

“I’m sure it’ll be quick,” I replied, keeping my voice low. “Just promise not to kill me.”

She laughed, and at Ysme’s direction, readied her weapons. I did the same, pausing to take a breath before pulling my sword and dagger free in one fluid motion, just as I’d been taught, and shifting into a practiced ready stance.

The ring of soldiers let out a surprised “Ooo!” at the motion. Which was rather ridiculous, since quite a number of them—if not all—had been fully present during my lessons last year.

She struck first—just as I knew she would, for I had been watching her, and she was an aggressive fighter, not one to bide her time and wait for an opening. Were I a more experienced or confident fighter myself I would have tried baiting her, forcing her to lean on her aggression as a crux, to strike just when I wanted her to.

But I wasn’t.

I was fast, though, and just managed to slip away from her attack. My half-hearted “slice”—using the flat of my blade, of course—towards her thigh was met with a solid _thwack_ from her shield. The force of it rocked me back; I only just managed to stay on my feet. She came at me again, and again, and again; I knew better than to try to block her swing with my own blade—and the one time I did, she immediately brought her shield up and shoved me backwards, just as her father so often had (though not as hard, as I wasn’t wearing any armor).

I fell back against the dirt, panting. Ania grinned down at me, glancing briefly over her shoulder as another soldier called out something.

“Is that all you’ve got?” barked Ysme.

“She’s too strong!” I said, still panting as I lifted myself up on my elbows. “I have to yield—

“Aye, she’s strong, and she’s got a nice fine blade, same as you. But you’ve got something she hasn’t.”

Ania, amused by her ‘victory’ over me—and I know that, unlike her sister, she had been going easy on me, and as I was no Nord, I was extremely grateful for it—glanced quizzically over at Ysme.

 _Oh_ , I thought, and it was as if a little mage light had gone off in my head, lighting up my thoughts.

When Ania looked back down at me, I lifted my hand and shot a little fireball, aiming just over her shoulder.

She jumped back, eyes widened in alarm. Around us the soldiers cried out, then began to cheer. I wasn’t surprised that they either knew I was a mage or weren’t as phased by it as most Windhelm Nords were; they’d been personally selected to accompany the jarl to Whiterun, after all. I got back to my feet, my sword in my right hand, my left hand holding my dagger between thumb and forefinger as I kept my palm raised towards my opponent.

She narrowed her eyes at me and adjusted her stance.

This time I shot a fireball directly at her, only because I knew she was prepared now to defend against it. She did so, bringing her shield up, deflecting the flames. We circled one another cautiously, my right hand gripping my sword—too tightly, probably, as I could remember being told to always have a firm but loose grip on the hilt. She feinted; I started, taking a step back. She grinned and brought her shield quickly up—in a real fight, I would have had to aim at her head, and she of course knew I wouldn’t do that. I brought my sword up to meet a strike that never came, because I completely forgot about our feet. Before I knew it, she’d hooked an ankle behind mine and yanked, knocking her shield against my chest so that I tumbled onto my back.

“Yield,” she said, grinning and pointing her sword down to my chin, even as the soldiers around us erupted into raucous cheers.

“Ow,” I said, rubbing my chest. “That hurt.”

She scoffed. “Stop trying to win the crowd, _Uncle_.”

I blinked at the bizarre form of address, then blushed, realizing what she meant. She laughed and offered me her arm, which I grasped, allowing her to help me back up to my feet, after which she clapped me on the back, which I’m not ashamed to say caused me to stumble forward slightly.

“Well done, Sir Elf,” said Ysme, coming forward with a grin. “Not bad,” she added, this time to Ania, “But not every magic-user is a sweet little mageling still wet behind the ears like this one.”

“I’m literally the same age as her,” I said dryly.

“I know,” said Ania, and she actually looked sheepish. “I should have expected him to use magic, but I guess I got a little…” She seemed too embarrassed to admit her own hubris. Perfect jarl material, I thought.

“Perhaps you would like to test your skills against a more equal opponent.”

Ania’s eyes went wide (so did Ysme’s, but the look was more comical), and I whirled around. There was the jarl, standing with his arms crossed over his chest, having evidently observed our little spar. His eyes met mine briefly, and I thought I caught the briefest of smirks. I rolled my eyes. He was so dramatic sometimes.

Ania recovered quickly enough, even giving a jerky little bow. “I would be honored, my king,” she said.

The soldiers were on their feet now, as the king was given a sword and shield so that he and his opponent could meet one another with the same weapon. As I went and reclaimed my spot by Hellina—still rubbing my chest, by the way; she really had hit me rather hard!—I noticed Galmar standing nearby, a rare smile on his face as he watched his oldest daughter face off against his oldest friend.

“ _This’ll_ hardly be a fair fight,” I muttered.

“Don’t be so hasty,” she murmured back. “She may surprise you.”

“You just say that because she lets you kiss her.”

She smiled at me and winked; I was quickly learning that she was impossible to tease, let alone embarrass. Such nonchalance both fascinated and terrified me, all at the same time.

Cheers from the surrounding crowd brought my attention back to the fight. Ania had blocked Ulfric’s first swing, but the slight curl of his mouth told me he had anticipated that. It was like watching a fight between a great bear and a mountain cat. He pressed her, bashing his shield hard against hers; she sprang back, heels digging into the dirt. He met each of her swift counterattacks with ease, never giving ground. At times it looked as if he were the aggressor; others, as if she were leading him, but even I knew that appearances could be deceiving.

“Is that all you’ve got, girl!” shouted Galmar. “Press him! Press him hard!”

“Come on, Ania!” cried Una.

That set the rest of the crowd off, some calling for Ania, others for the king. There were good-natured, jovial shouts for Skyrim, for the honor of Windhelm, and the Stormcloaks, and soon bets were even being placed. I was amazed that there were those who were genuinely willing to place septums against the king, since even to my mostly untrained eye it was clear who was the veteran and who was still a budding warrior.

And then Ania slammed the flat of her blade as hard as she could against the king’s left side.

The king grunted, but I was the one who gasped, as if I could feel the sharp pain searing itself into my own side. Beside me, I caught Hellina giving me an amused look. I ignored her, feeling my face immediately burn as I cried out, “That’s cheating!”

“No cheating in war, Distraction,” said Galmar, laughing, and then the cheering _really_ became loud, and even more septums were exchanged. But it seemed the king had decided that the fight had gone on long enough: his heir had proven herself before their people, but it wouldn’t do to let things continue much longer.

He disarmed her after a brutal series of shield bashes that left her grunting with effort.

“I yield,” she said, panting and wincing.

The soldiers all cheered one final time, hailing their king, though many came forward to clap Ania on the shoulder, and it wasn’t long before her usual grin was back in place.

I shook my head, not entirely pleased with the brutal spectacle of it all.

“Is this really what soldiers do for fun?” I muttered.

Hellina only laughed at me. I noticed her eyes drift from my face to something just over my shoulder. She smiled, then, and bowed her head ever so slightly.

I turned around, and found myself gazing up into the blue eyes of the king.

“Did she hurt you?” I asked, my hand immediately going to his side, where I knew the ugly scar still marched its way across his skin. “She shouldn’t have done that! I know it’s been almost a year, but…”

I trailed off, watching as he placed his large hand over mine. I met his eyes again.

“Walk with me,” he said, a faint smile actually coming to his face.

I blinked. “Walk with you? Where?”

He took my hand in his, fingers briefly entwining, and squeezed it before releasing it. Then he nodded towards the hills, which were growing dim as the sun sank behind them.

“I wish to show you something,” he said.

Mystified, I nodded, and, glancing once more over my shoulder at the group of good-natured, laughing soldiers, turned to follow him.

We walked quietly beside one another for some time, the earth beneath our feet relatively flat at first. I glanced at his profile occasionally, when I thought he wasn’t looking. He didn’t seem out of breath from his brief skirmish, nor did he seem in pain, so I could relieve myself on that account. I still felt it wrong of Ania to do what she did, but then, I was not a soldier—even harming my enemies had turned my stomach and made me hope and pray I would never have to do so again.

The sounds from camp were quickly swallowed by the soft wind that blew down over the tops of the hills and across the plains. The long, brown grass waved below our knees, and seen we were stepping over rock outcroppings, the earth tilting slightly as we entered the hill country. Ulfric surprised me by offering me his hand, and I took it, letting him pull me forward a few times when the ground was tricky, but mostly drawing comfort from his physical presence—he did not regularly hold my hand, nor did I ever really presume to reach for his.

I glanced at him again, wondering at the thoughtful expression on his face.

“You weren’t angry to find me sparring with Ania,” I said.

He cast me a brief, puzzled look.

  
“Angry?”

“It’s just, you’ve been so worried about me,” I said, trying to explain, and feeling suddenly awkward about it. “I thought you’d be displeased to find me working up a sweat.”

“Ah.”

The corner of his mouth tipped up slightly, and I realized he was amused, though more at his own expense than mine, it turned out.

“I was not angry, no. Nor should I have been. I spoke to Galmar… rather, I should say he spoke to me, about my… recent concerns on your behalf. It is a dishonor to you, he said, that I should trust your own judgment so little, and a dishonor to myself, that I should once again allow my mind to be wholly consumed by concern for you.”

I couldn’t help feeling annoyed that it had taken a talking-to from Galmar of all people to convince him that his overprotectiveness had become an issue between us. But I suppose that’s the nature of friendship, and as I had my friends, it was only fair that he should have his, and confide in them when he needed their advice most.

“In other words,” I said, unable still to keep the irritation from my voice, “I was a distraction to you again.”

He actually chuckled, crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes when our gazes briefly met.

“You are always a distraction,” he said, teasing me, I knew. “The pleasantest of distractions.”

I hated that his compliments could still make me blush. I remained quiet for a few minutes more as we hiked. The ground beneath our feet had become progressively steeper, and I even began to feel a little out of breath.

“Could we rest for a moment?” I asked, and he surprised me by not immediately humoring me.

“It is only a little bit farther,” he said instead, his hand resting lightly, momentarily on my back before retaking my hand.

It was true. We crested the hill, and the sun peeked suddenly out from behind the distant mountains, momentarily blinding me. I brought my free hand up, shielding my eyes, and turned to look behind us, curious to see if I could see the camp. I could, though barely. The soldiers scurried slowly about, like tiny black ants in the sand.

“There.”

I came to stand beside my lover, and looked to where he pointed. I squinted, peering out into the far distance. And finally I could see it, what he wanted me to see: an immense statue, erected on the top of a mountain—a woman, I thought, holding an object in each of her outstretched hands.

“Is that…?” I blinked again, wondering if it _could_ be—but no, it couldn’t. Not here in cold, war-loving Skyrim, far from the native land of my people.

“Yes,” said the king. “It is a shrine to the goddess Azura. Farther away than it looks, I’m afraid. We passed the long path that leads there, up to the top of the mountain, several days ago. This spot is the only place I know of where one can see both the shrine and Dragonsreach Castle.”

I turned in the opposite direction to see where he indicated, and sure enough, I could spy the top of a great dark structure: the seat of the jarl of Whiterun. It was tall, but nowhere near as large and foreboding as the Palace of the Kings.

I turned back to gaze out at the far off image of the goddess, feeling something lurch inside me.

“I will take you there, someday,” said my lover, “If you like. Perhaps on the way back home.”

I don’t know why, but my eyes suddenly filled with tears. It felt as if a wave of oppressive, overwhelming gratitude were abruptly sweeping over me, and I blinked, and tried to breathe, but my breath got stuck in my chest.

“Casien,” he said, his voice lowering in concern, “What’s wrong?”

I swallowed, tried to swallow my tears, too, and instead brought both my hands up, wiping at my eyes.

“Nothing,” I said, sniffing. “It’s just… you talk like that, promise me such wonderful things, and I… I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve it. I feel like I spend my life wondering if I’m doing the right thing, saying the right thing, if I’ve pleased or displeased you, if you’ve become angry with me, or tired of me. I know it’s stupid, and it’s exactly what Helgird said I shouldn’t do, that it’s childish of me to constantly question you, and… us. But I can’t help it.” I sniffed and swallowed again, wiping once more, irritably now, at my eyes. “I can’t help it. You’re… _you_. And I’m me. I’m nothing, and I came from nothing, and now I’m going to marry you, and I don’t…”

But I couldn’t finish the sentence. Mostly because I was rambling, and had no real control over the thoughts tumbling their way from my head to the tip of my tongue. But I knew that I surely did not deserve to be where I was, loved by a man who was by far my superior in every regard—no wonder people whispered when I walked by, gave me fouls looks, or mistook me for nothing but a servant.

I felt a pair of warm hands encircle my face, palms cupping my cheeks. I turned my gaze up to his, his fingers threading through my windblown hair. His blue eyes seemed sad as he looked down into mine.

“Casien,” he said, his thumbs wiping gently at the corner of my eyes. “You are not nothing. To me, you are… everything.”

I don’t know if those were the right words for me to hear. But I could see from the look in his eyes that this was a confession—that this was an aching weakness of his, and that once again I must remind myself that I was not the only one who was in love. I was not the only one who doubted myself, who let my feelings rule me when I really ought to know better.

“I love you,” I said, the words slipping out of me before I could stop them. “Too much, I’m afraid.”

“I know,” he said, a faint smile coming to his face. “The gods have brought us together, little roebuck. Of this I am more sure of than anything else. I did not think love was to play a role in my life—only sacrifice, duty, and war. I have lived my life preparing to be in service to others: first the Greybeards, then my country and my people. But somehow _you_ have become the guiding principle in my life; it is _you_ who shapes my thoughts and actions. And if that is wrong, I do not wish to be right.”

He pulled my face gently up to his, then, and kissed me. I never could have imagined that love could hurt. But sometimes it builds up inside you, enveloping your heart and pushing against your chest to such a degree that you feel as if you might burst. I wished I could pour my feelings out through my fingertips then as I clung to my lover, fill his mouth with my longing for him as I filled it with my tongue. I knew, in that moment, now that he felt the same. And I knew that there could be no cure for the two of us, save, perhaps, time.

Perhaps in time we would grow so used to one another that our love would settle over us like a warm blanket, and we could go about our business secure, grateful yet no longer overwhelmed by its beautiful, suffocating presence. For now, though, we would have to learn to live with how much we needed one another, how impossible it would be for us to ever be parted again.

//

_beautiful art by[kf1n3](http://kf1n3.tumblr.com/) ♡♡♡_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a scene that has been in my head for a long, long time—almost since the very beginning of this story. I always knew that Casien and the king would share this moment together, and that it would be a sort of turning point in their relationship. I’m so happy to finally get to share it with everyone. And now we finally move onward, to the moot, and all that could potentially happen there…
> 
> By the way, I have always had the song "[So Are You To Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B-l1NYvBYGE)" by Eastmountainsouth whenever I think of this scene. It’s such a beautiful song and so sums up their relationship.
> 
> (Oh yes, and I did sort of play fast and loose with the placement of Azura's Shrine here. Forgive me?)


	6. Chapter 6

It had been something of a minor miracle that during the two weeks or so that we were traveling it had never rained, not even once. Spring was ushering itself in, after all, and spring in Whiterun Hold meant rain—and floods, as the plains seemed uniquely designed to hold large, temporary bodies of water.

Our final night on the road, the weather seemed to finally decide to end its cordial relationship with us. I was woken up, sometime in the middle of the night, by the sounds of a storm. I gazed up at the blackness of the tent above me, watching as it periodically lit up with lightning. The sound of heavy raindrops pelting against the material of the tent, along with the rushing gusts of wind buffeting its sides, made me nervous.

“Go back to sleep,” murmured my lover beside me, his arm pulling me sleepily closer.

“Are you hearing this??” I asked, my heart doing summersaults in my chest at a particularly loud _boom!_ of thunder.

“It is only a storm,” he said. “The tent is strong. We prepare for this. We will be fine.”

He was right, of course, but I still didn’t fall asleep again until the violent sounds from the storm began to let off. By morning, it had passed, but it left the ground a sodden mess, and it had caused the temperature to drop significantly, such that when the king and I exited the tent, our breath actually puffed out before us.

I shivered, pulling my cloak more tightly around me.

“I’ll go and fetch some gloves,” I said, before my lover could give me one of his looks. “And a scarf. And I’ll pull on another pair of socks, too.”

He wasn’t generally one to look sheepish, but that’s the only way I could describe the expression that came to his face then. He laid a hand on my shoulder, squeezing it gently, then turned to help the others break camp.

By the time I finally mounted my horse, my boots were a muddy disaster, and even my trousers had been dirtied somewhat below the knee. There was some disagreement between Galmar and Ulfric about what order we should all ride in as we approached the capital city. Though we wouldn’t reach the walls of the city itself until sometime this afternoon, we would begin to encounter the outskirts—farmsteads, ranches, distilleries, mills, and the like—by noon. We had already passed through two smaller villages, so I wondered why it should suddenly matter, as the citizens of those townships had given us wary glances regardless. When I discovered that the object of their argument was actually _me_ , my stomach turned to my mush, my gloved fingers fidgeting with the reins to such an extent that my old gray gelding tossed his head and flattened his ears at me.

“He will ride beside me,” said the king, as he tossed the saddle up onto his own horse.

“He can’t,” said Galmar, mud sloshing in his wake as he followed him. “You know he can’t.”

“Do you now presume to tell me what can and can’t be done?” replied the king, turning to face him. His right hand reached absently for the reins of his mount, the spirited mare shying at the sudden movement.

“I offer my advice only, as always, my jarl.”

Galmar’s face was stony, and as they were right beside me, I knew that _he knew_ I could hear their conversation, as could several of the surrounding soldiers, though they did a decent enough job of focusing wholly on their duties and pretending they could not.

Ulfric moved closer towards his old friend, a hard edge coming to his lowered voice.

“Your lack of respect towards my intended is most grating, Galmar.”

“You know I care for the lad,” replied Galmar, never flinching. “I think of him as one of my own. By the Nine, he has your heart and that’s enough for me, though it speaks ill of his own judgment, I might add.”

“Hm,” huffed the king, which I knew meant that Galmar’s humor had touched him, but he didn’t wish to show it.

“But they don’t know him like we do, and you know it’s nothing to do with him and everything to do with them. You are their High King, or soon will be. You ride at the head. I to your right, your heir to your left. They know who is charge, then. They already know me, and my influence over you. Send Ania back if you will, but no one else should ride beside you. No one else should be seen to influence you and your decisions.”

There was silence between them, then:

“As you command, Galmar,” said the jarl, the words sliding like venom through his teeth.

He turned and mounted his horse, then, kneeing her forward. Galmar spared me a look before doing the same, urging his own mount until he was beside the king. He gestured for Ania to flank the king’s other side. I didn’t know quite what to do, as the rest of the company began to follow, the heavier carts as usual lagging behind.

“Come,” said Hellina, coming up beside me on her own brown mare. She smiled at me and reached for my horse’s reins, urging us both forward. Una was waiting for us, and the soldiers paused as well, so that the three of us could ride astride. Then, with Galmar, the jarl, and Ania before us, we set off for Whiterun.

The rain wasn’t quite finished; it drizzled on and off, just enough to make us all uncomfortable. I rode with my hood pulled up over my forehead until noon, but even then, we ate lunch hastily, for we wet and miserable.

Afterward, Ysme and Torbin rode ahead of us; I could just make out the blue banner affixed to the saddle of Ysme’s horse. By the time we reached the outskirts of Whiterun, the rain had finally ceased for good, but now the wind picked up, and it stretched the banner taunt before snapping it back, over and over again.

The people paused in their work and stared up at us as we passed. There were no smiles to greet us, no cheers. The occasional ‘Hail Ulfric!’ might ring out from a solitary figure in a field or on a wagon, but it remained clear to me that our welcome here was uncertain at best.

“Open the gates!” I heard Ysme shout, as we rode up to the heavy wooden gates that barred the city shut. “Jarl Ulfric of Windhelm has arrived!”

There was a heavy, grinding sound then as the guards posted at the gates obliged us. As we passed through, I noticed a smaller stone door, which must have allowed for the day-to-day passage of every day citizens. A single horse might have passed through, but for a company such as ours, the gates had to be opened.

We made our way over a short stone bridge before entering the city. It was as different from dark, stony Windhelm as I could have imagined. Heavy, wooden buildings stood close to one another, their doorways facing in odd directions. The roofs were tall and vaulted; steps sometimes led up to the strange doors, and now, as our horses’ hoofs sloshed through the mud, I could see why. People began to gather, lining the main street as we made our way through the heart of the city, passing through what looked like a residential area before entering a marketplace.

“So the jarl brings his favorite servant with him,” said one man as we passed, and his fellows laughed with him. It took me a moment to realize he was referring to _me_. I looked back over my shoulder at him; I wanted to shout that I was no servant, but I knew that I shouldn’t. Beside me, Una met my eyes and smiled a short, grim smile.

“You’re a traitor to your kind!” shouted one woman.

“Think of Irileth!” said another.

“Who’s Irileth?” I asked, keeping my voice low, and trying not to reveal how nervous I was.

“Jarl Balgruuf’s greatest general,” murmured Una, her hand resting on her sword hilt now. Our eyes met again. “A Dunmer.”

“Killed defending her jarl against the Stormcloak army last year,” said Hellina.

I blanched. I didn’t even have a chance to feel shocked that a Dunmer could rise to such prominence in Skyrim. I was too busy worrying that some of those shouting insults might choose to do more than shout, and worried, too, that Ulfric would hear and do something about it.

There was no way he _couldn’t_ have heard. For once I blessed Galmar’s influence over him. Even despite the insults, there were those who cheered our arrival, those who must have supported the Stormcloak cause even before the war. Finally, we paused before an immense courtyard, in front of what must have been the jarl’s stables. A white-haired man came forward, several younger men flanking him. Galmar and the king dismounted, as did Ania. Ulfric and the white-haired man exchanged a few words, their hands clasping briefly, then the king turned back towards me. The others were dismounting, young boys and girls hurrying forward to take their horses. The king offered me his hand, and I took it, dismounting, and letting him catch me by the shoulders as I stumbled to my feet—I was still an awkward rider and found Skyrim horses altogether too tall and wide.

He said nothing as I eyes met, but his hands lingered on my shoulders for a moment. I tried for a smile, and he seemed to relax. He nodded, then, squeezing my shoulders once, before lowering his hands and turning to join the white-haired man—Vignar Gray-Mane, I would later learn—and the others.

Dragonsreach still lurked far above us. It loomed over our heads as we began the steep trek up to its doors. The artificial river that flowed down alongside the stone steps rushed past us, filled to bursting after the recent downpour. Una and Hellina continued to flank me, Una’s hand still resting absently on her sword hilt. Several of the guards we passed gave me curious looks, but nothing more.

Two guards hauled open the immense wooden doors that led directly into the main hall, just as they did for Windhelm—though ours were made of stone, of course. Both castles were based around the concept of the ancient Nord longhouse, though they naturally far exceeded those structures in sheer square footage. Like The Palace of the Kings, the guest suites were on the second floor, while the jarl and his or her family and most intimate companions were on the third floor. There were not nearly as many rooms as The Palace of the Kings, however, and I think overall Dragonsreach was barely half the size of the former.

The Windhelm soldiers, including Ysme and Torbin, were taken to the barracks on the first floor, leaving only myself, Una, Hellina, Ania, Galmar, and, of course, the king (along with a few Dragonsreach servants who were carrying our belongings). It was easier to hear the conversation between Vignar and the king, now that we were indoors, as Vignar began to lead us upstairs.

“You must be tired after such a long journey,” said Vignar. “You’ll want to rest before dinner. Or shall we have it sent up to your rooms?”

“How many of the others have arrived?” asked Ulfric, apparently ignoring the polite inquiry.

“Jarl Laila was the first to arrive. She and her people have been here for nearly two weeks already. Next came the contingent from Falkreath. It is surprising how many think they deserve the title of jarl…”

“No politics, Vignar. Not yet. Just tell me who else is here.”

“All but Jarl Skald and Jarl Korir. No doubt the late winter has kept them from traveling too soon.”

“No doubt.”

“You did not experience any trouble yourselves, coming from Windhelm? That storm last night was rather fierce.”

“We are as you see us.”

I wondered at the king’s cold responses to Vignar’s inquiries. I knew he hated playing politics, and if there was one thing I could have guessed about the shrewd-faced white-haired man who now strode alongside my lover, it was that he was a great player of the political game. He seemed all too eager to relay his thoughts on the other players in the game, and his overtures towards Ulfric were a little… ingratiating.

“We’ve sectioned off this wing for you and your people,” he said, finally pausing before a long hallway with a multitude of doors, each presumably leading to a guest room. “General Galmar, I am sure you will want to take the first one here, though, of course, I can assure you, Jarl Ulfric, that Dragonsreach is entirely secure. The one at the farthest end of the hallway is the largest. It overlooks the entire city; we have set that one aside for your use.”

“Your daughters, General Galmar,” he continued, turning to smile at Ania, Una, and Hellina—whom he obviously mistook for another daughter— “may choose any room they like. All of the rooms have been prepared, and the fires should be lit.” He glanced at me next, his brow furrowing slightly. “As for your servant…”

“He is not my servant,” said Ulfric. “Casien.”

He held out his arm towards me, and, after hesitating for a moment, I walked towards him, doing my best to ignore the hard look Galmar was giving me. The king rested his hand behind my shoulders once I was near him, then together we made our way down to the room at the end of the hallway. I glanced back just once, and caught Una biting her lip—to keep from smiling, I think.

I had to restrain myself from apologizing to the two servants who lugged in my trunk; the king’s trunk was comparatively smaller and far lighter. I also had to refrain from startling when they both bowed to me before leaving. The rooms themselves were smaller than our apartment in Windhelm, but that was to be expected. They were still luxurious, and once I removed my boots in the sitting area, I continued on into the bedroom and moved to gaze out of one of the windows.

“He’s right,” I said, my eyes widening as I looked down at the city of Whiterun below us. Mists from the waterfall rose up, bathing my view in an almost ethereal light. “You can see the whole city from here.”

I heard Ulfric come up behind me, and I glanced up at him when I felt his hand come to rest at the back of my neck.

“Better than the view from home,” he said, arching one brow.

“No,” I said, laughing. “Don’t bait me. The bay is beautiful in its own way. But this…” I gazed back out at the buildings and people below. “It really is something.”

I leaned up then and surprised him by kissing his jaw.

“I get the bathtub first,” I sang, as I quickly ducked under his arm and, pausing to toss my cloak aside on the bed, made my way towards what I assumed was the washroom.

I silently thanked the gods for the presence of the toilet. Using a latrine for two weeks had been, shall we say, less than desirable, and I think I would’ve screamed if I’d had to go back to using chamber pots. But beyond the toilet was what had to be the largest, deepest tub I had ever seen in my life. It was built into the wall, too, hewn into the very stone, and was nearly as deep as it was wide. There was also a fair-sized coal-burning, free-standing fireplace in one corner, too, which kept the room toasty warm despite the current chilly outside temperature.

“Casien?” said the king, probably curious when he didn’t hear the water immediately start to pour. “Is everything…?”

He paused in the doorway with me, evidently also struck by the size of the tub.

“Ah,” he said after a while. “I’d forgotten how large they are here.”

“Big enough for two,” I supplied.

We looked at one another. I grinned.

When you grow up poor and hungry, you’re often all too aware of the things in life you’re missing. Now I’ve always been a big fan of bathing; I can sit and soak in a tub of warm water until the water’s gone nearly cold, and if I have a book to read while I’m soaking? Even better. It was a luxury we didn’t often have in Solstheim, but of course, we were generally far more concerned about not having enough to eat or not having enough blankets and coats for winter.

Fortune had certainly smiled upon me in recent years, and I no longer had to worry about starving or freezing to death. But I also didn’t realize until that moment that there had been something missing in my life, even as charmed as it had become, and that _something_ was ending a long journey by taking a hot bath with my lover.

I don’t know how I didn’t pass out, what with the heat from the water, combined with the heat the two of us generated together from all the kissing, cuddling, and touching we were doing. I’ll admit I was a little too enthusiastic about making love in the bath—until I realized just how oddly _sticky_ water can be. Luckily, whoever had prepared these rooms had lined the side of the tub with all manner of soaps and oils, so I ended up getting to make my newly-hatched dream come true after all.

Afterward, the king had to practically pry me from his chest; I, for one, was fully content to snuggle there until my eyes drooped closed and I had to be carried to bed. But apparently we had a state dinner to attend.

“It’s going to be like this every day, isn’t it?” I grumbled as I towel-dried my hair, which the looking glass kindly informed me was now sticking up in every direction. I did my best to pat it down.

“You know the answer to that question,” he said, pausing to place a kiss on my shoulder before passing me and heading into the bedroom.

He dressed quickly; I, less so, as I actually thought carefully (perhaps too carefully) about what I should wear and how it might reflect upon me. Whereas I had done my best to minimize the evidence of my good fortune from my fellow Dunmer, I felt it prudent to go in the opposite direction here in Whiterun. I pulled on a pair of off-white trousers—no working class person wore off-white trousers, which could so easily be dirtied—and a soft, red tunic with gold trim. My sleeveless gambeson was dark brown and went down to my knees; I then buckled on my sword belt, thinking it could only make a positive impression among Nords.

There was a knock on the door just as we were preparing to leave. I was a little surprised when the king went to answer the door and Galmar of all people entered the room.

He nodded at me, then turned to look at the king.

“Thought we might talk, you and I, before we head down.” He glanced at me again. “Alone, if you don’t mind.”

I could practically see the storm gathering in my lover’s eyes. “Galmar—

“It’s fine,” I said lightly. I smiled at them both. “I’ll go and find Una, or Ania and Hellina.”

I passed them, heading for the outer door and doing my best to ignore the pregnant silence that now stretched between them. Once I closed the door behind me I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. I leaned against the wall beside the door, closing my eyes momentarily.

Then, feeling like a truly awful person, I crept forward again and leaned my ear against the wooden door.

“…nothing to apologize for,” said the king, and I supposed he must be referring to this morning.

“Aye, but I offer it nonetheless. Now, you know what I’m going to say to you.”

Silence.

“You can’t tote the lad around as if he were a prized hound. He can’t be glued to your side at all hours of the day. He’ll be seen as a weakness, and there’re plenty here ready to exploit any perceived weakness of Ulfric Stormcloak.”

“Galmar,” said the king, his voice sounding strangely heavy. “…He _is_ my weakness. He is good, honest… strong in his own way. Beside him, I feel…”

But he seemed unable to complete the sentence.

“This won’t do, Ulfric,” said Galmar.

The sound of a throat being cleared behind me made me start like a deer, my face no doubt as red as it could possibly be as I whirled around. Luckily, it was only Una standing there, smiling, arms crossed, one brow arched in question.

I glanced back at the door one last time, before grabbing her arm and hurrying forward.

“Hey!” she said, tripping a little on the long skirt of her dress—she rarely wore them at home. “What’s the hurry?”

“It’s your father,” I said, releasing her arm and slowing my pace once we were halfway across the hall. “I think… he’s trying to separate us.”

She goggled at me.

“ _What_?!”

I shook my head. “I don’t mean like that. I mean, I think… well, he calls me ‘distraction,’ doesn’t he? I think he thinks I distract the king from his duties. We’re always together, and I make him… make bad decisions. On my behalf.”

She looked thoughtful for a moment, as we began to head downstairs (her hands consciously grabbing at her skirt so she wouldn’t trip again).

“Well, I’m not exactly an expert on that sort of thing,” she finally said. “But I think that’s just how love is. At least at first. Look at Ania and Hellina; they’re always together, too. Father just forgets because he’s been married for so long. He and Mother are used to being apart from one another.”

I hadn’t really thought of it that way. I had just assumed that Galmar was right. But it was certainly _my_ first time being in love, and I think… I think it may have been the king’s as well. Certainly, he’d been alone for a very long time before meeting me. It was entirely possible that we were a little too dependent on one another. He had as much confessed it to me last night at the top of the hill, and I remembered how it had simultaneously made my stomach lurch and my heart sing. I didn’t wish to be anyone’s burden, yet few things could make me happier than realizing how important I was to the person I loved most in the world.

But to hear him admit to Galmar that I was his weakness… it made me ache for him. Beside me, he was _what_? Couldn’t he see what a truly great man he was? The way everyone else saw him? The way _I_ saw him?

“Thorig’s Beard,” muttered Una, disturbing me from my thoughts. “Where in Oblivion is the blasted throne room?”

I blinked and paused, Una pausing beside me. We looked all around us, and I realized I had no earthly idea where we were. We were in another hallway, I knew that much, and definitely on the first floor, but otherwise…

We looked at one another. Una snorted. We both started laughing.

Luckily, a passing servant took pity on us and led us to the throne room, which, of course, also doubled as the official dining hall. It seemed most of the dignitaries were already arrived, and food had been served as well. I saw Hellina and Ania; Hellina waved at us, but there were no empty seats near her.

“There,” said Una, touching my arm and pointing at a pair of empty seats before leading the way.

“But what about the king, and your father?” I hissed, hurrying after her.

“Father wants to lecture Uncle, fine, but they can find their own seats now.”

I frowned, a little disappointed (and nervous) about spending my first afternoon apart from my lover, who would certainly have shielded me from the well-to-do vultures who had descended from the nine holds of Skyrim.

We took our seats across from another young man and woman. They were perhaps a little older than me, though not by much. The woman has flax-colored hair that was even paler than Una’s (who was the only blond in her family), and the man had reddish-blond hair and a beard which he’d tied into a short little braid. It was not an _unusual_ look among Nords, though not so popular in Windhelm—I’m quite sure I’d have given Ulfric an earful if he ever considered growing his beard out and tending to it in such a fashion—but on this particular young man, it was almost becoming.

“Hello,” said Una, smiling at them.

Sometimes extroverted people truly astonish me.

The couple—for it seemed very clear to _me_ at least that they were a couple—smiled back.

“Hello,” said the woman. “You’re one of General Galmar’s daughters.”

“That’s right,” said Una, reaching hungrily for some of the food which had been lain out before us. “The name’s Una.”

“I’m Olfina,” returned the woman, “and this is Jon.”

“Casien,” I said, when she looked at me.

She blinked. “Oh! You’re the one… oh my. I’m so terribly sorry for my uncle’s rudeness earlier. I wasn’t there, but my brother heard what happened and told me.”

“Your uncle…?” I frowned, not understanding.

“Yes, my uncle, Vignar Gray-Mane. It was terribly wrong for him to assume you were a servant.”

“He _was_ a servant,” said another young man, this one sitting to Olfina’s right. He’d been attending to a different conversation, but he turned to face us now. His small, cold eyes focused on me in particular. The only way I could think to describe the smile on his face was ‘smarmy.’

“Oh?” said Olfina, looking at me in faint surprise. “Well, there’s nothing wrong with that, I suppose.”

“I’m not ashamed of my past,” I said, though I imagine the heat I could feel pricking my face belied my assurances.

“I see you’re still a little prick, Saerlund,” said Una, munching on a piece of roasted chicken now.

 _Now_ it made sense: Saerlund Law-Giver, Jarl Laila Law-Giver’s son. He was a somewhat frequent visitor to Windhelm, negotiating treaties and trade deals on his mother’s behalf. I remembered rather distinctly that Ulfric did not like him.

“Which one are you again?” sneered Saerlund. “Galmar has so many daughters, it’s hard to keep track of them.”

“…I wish I had a sister,” said Olfina, clearly trying to steer the conversation towards more pleasant waters. She smiled at Una. “You must be so happy to always have a confidante nearby.”

“Are we really going to sit here and _not_ talk about Ulfric Stormcloak taking the servant he’s fucking to the moot?” said Saerlund. “What is it about you Dunmer and jarls?” he continued, looking directly at me. “First Balgruuf and Irileth, now you and Ulfric. It must be some kind of Dunmer sex magic.”

He laughed, though no one else did. Olfina and Jon looked embarrassed; Jon was turning downright red. A few of the other dignitaries glanced in our direction, some giving me queer looks, but no one seemed eager to join in on our conversation.

“I don’t know,” I said, forcing myself to nonchalantly reach for a piece of bread. “If anyone’s using sex magic, it’s Ulfric. He’s _amazing_ in bed.”

Beside me, Una snort-laughed and choked on the beer in her mouth. She coughed, then made a show of covering her ears. “I did _not_ need to hear that!”

Across from us, Olfina laughed as well, her expression relaxing. Jon was still blushing, but he was smiling now.

“Revolting,” said Saerlund, but no one paid him any mind anymore, so he turned to rejoin his previous conversation.

“Casien isn’t just a servant,” Una said, evidently feeling like she needed to defend me. “He’s Uncle Ulfric’s intended. They’re going to be married.”

“Really!” said Olfina, looking at me with wide eyes.

It was my turn to blush now.

“So he says,” I said, rolling my eyes.

“That’s wonderful,” she said, even reaching across the table to squeeze my hand. “Congratulations. Jon, you _must_ compose a song for them!”

“You’re a bard!” I said, looking at the other young man with renewed interest now.

“Oh,” he replied, smiling down at his plate. “No, well… not yet. Perhaps one day, if I can find the time to travel to Solitude, and if my family can spare me.”

“He writes the most beautiful poetry,” gushed Olfina. “Jon, you should let them read some of your poems.”

“I don’t think so,” said her red-faced companion.

“I’d love to read them,” I said, smiling encouragingly. “But I understand if you don’t want to share them yet. Who are your biggest influences? I absolutely adore Bjald Song-Smith. I even brought his book with me. I don’t think I could ever bear to travel without him.”

“Bjald Song-Smith!” he said. “He’s a little out of fashion, but his imagery is all right, I suppose.”

“All _right_?!” I stared at him as if he had just grown another head before my very eyes.

“Uh oh,” said Una, grinning. “We may have just started another civil war.”

Olfina laughed again, and the look she gave Jon was… well, I was surely not the only lovesick person sitting at this table.

Speaking of… I glanced up and down the table, and finally saw both Galmar and the king. They were seated quite far from us, looking very serious as they conversed with those seated around them. Their dinner companions were all Galmar’s age and older; I suspected the stately-looking woman to be Saerlund’s mother. Vignar Gray-Mane was also there, along with a man who looked very like him—Olfina’s father, perhaps.

I managed to catch the king’s eye, but he only held my gaze for a moment before looking away again.

I tried not to read too much into it. No doubt Galmar had encouraged him to keep a little distance between us in public. It had worked, so far; we weren’t even sitting together. Nevertheless, I resolved to defy my old sword-master, and the next time our eyes met, I smiled and waved.

The king blinked at me. I could see him clearing his throat and looking hastily away, reaching for a glass of mead. Beside him, Galmar glanced at him questioningly before looking over in my direction. I waved at him, too.

“Oh, Talos,” breathed Una, who must have just caught the exchange. “You _didn’t_.”

“If he yells at me, I’ll just tell Ulfric to yell at him back,” I muttered.

When I happened to look across the table, I noticed both Olfina and Jon watching me with curious smiles on their faces. That’s when I realized—well, it wasn’t as if I was _completely_ an idiot, but it was as I were recollecting that I wasn’t in Windhelm anymore for the first time since coming here. There were other people here, people who weren’t _our_ people. I thought about what Galmar had said this morning, about people wondering about my influence over the king. At home, that meant nothing; everyone knew me; they knew Ulfric. But here, no one knew me—the impressions I made upon those I met were thus of the utmost importance.

I was exhausted by the time the dinner ended. Afterward, there was music, and it seemed many intended to stay up for several more hours, drinking and laughing and gossiping. As soon as I noticed others standing and leaving, I did the same, excusing myself to Una, who had gotten into a lively conversation with two young men from Markath by the name of Silver-Blood. I think they were brothers, but I was too tired to really pay attention.

I didn’t look at the king as I headed for the stairs. I did notice people glancing my way when I passed. I was actually _not_ the only Dunmer here; I noticed an older woman, and I also even spotted an Argonian and an Altmer. But I was still clearly a novelty, and people couldn’t help but look.

Once I was far enough away, I paused and leaned against the wall of the darkened hallway. I closed my eyes momentarily and listened to the still lively sounds in the other room. I opened my eyes again; servants passed me, busy with their various tasks, but not a one glanced at me as they hurried by.

I started to turn and make my way towards the stairs, but then I noticed someone following me.

“Tired already?” said the king, smiling a little as he approached me.

I couldn’t really hide how surprised I was to see him.

“Is it all right for you to follow me?” I asked. “Won’t Galmar—

“Galmar means well,” he said, “But I am my own man. I have always cared very little for what others thought of me. I doubt that will soon change.”

He paused before me, then reached up and brushed a stray piece of dark hair behind one of my ears. Despite his words, I still couldn’t help glancing around, wondering if anyone was watching.

“You seem frightened, little roebuck,” he murmured. “Afraid I shall eat you up after all?”

My eyes widened, and I couldn’t help laughing, even as I gave his broad chest a playful little push. I well remembered how he had teased me, that first time we’d met in the second guest bedroom.

“Aren’t you worried someone will see us?” I asked.

He gazed into my eyes, his hand now coming to rest on my hip.

“No,” he said.

His hand pulled me closer, and he lowered his lips to mine. Galmar be damned—I kissed him back, as I always did, my fingers clenching into the material of his tunic and pulling him closer, even as his hand slid to my back and did the same.

“Are you going back?” I asked, a bit breathless as we finally parted.

“I should,” he said, his lips brushing against my own. “Yes.”

He kissed me again, and I almost thought he would lose his resolve—I wouldn’t have complained—but eventually he released me, and I obliged him by taking a few steps back.

“Take those stairs,” he said, pointing to the staircase just behind me. “Continue, then turn left at the fourth hallway.”

“I know how to get back to our room,” I said, rolling my eyes and silently blessing him for giving me directions.

He only chuckled, sparing me one more long look before turning and heading back to the dining hall.

I really was genuinely tired. I fell into the large, comfortable looking bed as soon as I shed my clothes—directly onto the floor, too, so you _know_ I was truly tired. I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

//

It was my bladder that woke me up. I wasn’t generally one to have to use the toilet in the middle of the night, but in my nervousness I must have had a bit too much to drink at dinner.

It must have been late into the night, for I was not alone. The heavy weight of my lover’s arm lay draped over me, and I could feel the warmth of his body pressing against my own from behind. I did my best to wiggle out from under it, not wishing to wake him—but he must have had a lot to drink, too, and not merely water and beer as I had had, for he remained dead to the world, his soft, steady snores never pausing.

I felt strangely awake by the time I finished using the toilet. I supposed then I must have gone to bed very early indeed, and if it were now around 4 in the morning or so… I may have already gotten a full eight hours or so of sleep.

I thought about returning to bed, but I knew I would be restless, and in my restlessness I might accidentally wake Ulfric—who clearly needed a few more hours of sleep. I had my books, but it would take quite a bit of stumbling around in the darkness to try and locate a candle to read by. I had the sudden thought, then, that I might explore the castle a bit, in hopes of coming across the library, where there was sure to be a fine fireplace, always kept lively and welcoming to guests, as the one back home was.

I found a nice, thick robe in the washroom and quietly pulled on my boots before carefully letting myself outside. The hallway was eerily silent, but that was to be expected at this time of night.

I’m sure anyone who knew me would have surely laughed at such a plan. Everyone by now knew of my propensity for getting lost, and even if I did manage to find the library, there was an excellent chance I wouldn’t be able to find my way back. But I was bored, and curious, and if, in the end, I had to ask a servant for help, well, I wasn’t above doing so. I always far preferred talking to servants than other people anyway.

I wandered about for a bit, quite happy to let myself get lost, in all honesty. It was pleasant to be surrounded by such silence. I didn’t fear for my safety, for I had nothing to fear within the sturdy walls of Dragonsreach. And in the middle of the night, I had no one I needed to impress—no one who was watching me, studying me, waiting for me to slip up and say or do the wrong thing.

Guards glanced at me curiously, not recognizing me, but evidently I did not appear to be much of a threat, for none of them ever stopped me. One of them wiggled his eyebrows at me; I think he thought I was attempting to make my way stealthily back to my own room after some illicit late-night tryst. Finally, I stopped and asked a sturdy young man passing by with a wheelbarrow full of logs where the library was, and he pointed me in the right direction.

Five minutes later, I was just about to head down another hallway when a pair of voices made me pause.

I didn’t recognize them—but there was just something about the hushed, cautious tone of their voices that put me immediately on my guard.

“…don’t think we should be meeting here,” said one. It was a man’s voice, but I could tell little else. Not an old man’s voice, I was reasonably certain, but other than that, I hadn’t a clue who it could be.

“…need to be paranoid,” said another man. “We don’t…” But he was speaking too lowly for me to understand.

“Planning an assassination is reason enough to be paranoid, don’t you think,” snapped the first man, and it felt as if my blood immediately ran cold. Assassination!! Did I really hear that correctly?

Had I _actually_ stumbled across a pair of conspirators?!

“Perhaps if we don't…” began the second man, his voice falling too low again before I picked up the rest of what he was saying. “…come up with a better plan. The future of Skyrim is at stake, is it not?”

“Enough of this,” hissed the first man. “I need to think. We'll speak of this again tomorrow.”

That seemed to put an end to the conversation; however, imagine my shock and terror when I began to hear footsteps heading in my direction! I looked behind me; the long, empty hallway stretched out before me, but all the doors were closed shut. There would be nowhere to hide.

I acted without thinking. Just as the footsteps were closing in, not ten feet from the corner where I stood—I faced the wall opposite me and quickly cast the shadow puppet king.

“By the Nine!” hissed one of the men, and I heard them both hastily pause and take a few steps back. “Who is that?”

“Never mind!” said the other, and soon they were both hurrying off in the opposite direction.

I let the shadow king dissipate and sagged against the wall, my heart hammering in my chest. I couldn’t believe what had nearly just happened. I couldn’t believe what I had heard!

Assassins!! Here, in Dragonsreach, and during the moot! But who were they planning on killing? It had to be someone important, of course—it could even be the future High King. Were they imperial apologists? Or were they simply maneuvering for power, now that several holds were currently lacking in leadership? I had no way of knowing, and really, my heart was hammering far too hard in my chest at present for me to really make sense of it all.

As soon as I could catch my breath and steady myself, I turned and hurried back the way I had come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some action!! 
> 
> By the way, guys, I read over this chapter a couple days ago and I stg I found some pretty glaring errors, but tonight I can't seem to find them. If you encounter a typo or something that doesn't seem to make sense, please let me know!


	7. Chapter 7

By some miracle, I managed to not get totally lost on my race back to the wing that had been assigned to us. I passed a few startled servants, and it occurred to me that I probably shouldn’t _look_ as if I’d just been privy to a treasonous discussion. So the next time someone called out after me in alarm, I paused and said to her, “I think I saw a ghost! It was horrible!”

“Nonsense,” she called back, and because she was significantly older than me, she probably couldn’t resist adding, “Lad your age oughtn’t to be seeing ghosts, now!”

I was too overcome by what I had heard to slacken my pace, even though there was really no reason for me to be flying about at such speeds; after all, it wasn’t as if the perpetrators were on their way to assassinate my… I stopped suddenly, my panting breath catching in my throat. It was the first time I had thought of them all—Ulfric, of course, but also Galmar and his own family—as _my_ family. The thought caused my heart to skip in a funny sort of way, but I frowned and shook the nonsense from my head and hurried forward again.

Rather than race to the end of the hallway, I came to a skidding stop before Galmar’s door, and, after pausing to catch my breath, proceeded to pound on his door.

“Galmar!” I cried, my knuckles stinging, I rapped them so hard against the wood. “Galmar!!”

It was a spur of the moment decision—but it occurred to me that if anyone should know first about a potential assassination attempt on the jarl’s life, it was Galmar.

Eventually, I heard a muffled growl and a demand that I ‘Show some patience, for Talos’ sake!’ Then there were heavy footsteps, the door swung open, and Galmar was glaring down at me. True to form, he held his axe in his right hand, though he obviously wasn’t wearing any armor, as I’d clearly awakened him from a dead sleep.

“You!” he said, but though his eyes narrowed, I noticed his expression relax, and his hand holding the axe lowered as well.

“Galmar, I’m so sorry!” I said, and suddenly the words were pouring out of my mouth faster than I could even process them: “I don’t mean to wake you, but—I couldn’t sleep, so I went looking for the library, only I didn’t find it; I found these two men in a hallway, and they were talking about an assassination, except one of them wasn’t sure if they should go through with it; they started walking towards me, but I scared them with magic—which I know I shouldn’t have done but I didn’t know what else to do! And then I ran all the way back here, and I know I’ve probably made a _complete_ fool of myself and all of you by default, but I—

“Hold a minute, boy,” he growled, and his face, which had initially relaxed once he’d recognized me, had hardened to stone as he listened to my wild tale. “Take a breath, for Nine’s sake.”

He made an irritable sound under his breath then and reached out, grabbing me by the upper arm and pulling me inside his room.

“Sit,” he said, shoving me (albeit gently—for him) towards the nearest chair.

I did so, watching as he went towards a side table and poured out a glass of dark spirits. This glass he brought to me, handing it to me and nodding at me to drink it.

I did so, my lips curling back as soon as the liquor touched my tongue. I forced myself to swallow, a warm fire licking at my throat, and I couldn’t help coughing once or twice afterward.

“One more sip,” he said, “If you can handle it. Put some hair on that skinny chest of yours.”

“I have plenty enough hair on my chest,” I said, bristling, but I obeyed, taking one more sip, and I had to admit, it did go down much smoother the second time.

I wasn’t interested in a third, however, and I suspect it had done its duty anyway—I felt steadied, calmer, less as if my heart were going to leap out of my throat.

I handed him the glass back and was little surprised to see him swallow the rest and set the empty glass aside as if it had been water.

“Now,” he said, his eyes narrowing at me, “Tell me again. More slowly this time, and not as if you’re my youngest daughter jibber-jabbering about the latest fashions.”

I scowled at him, but now really wasn’t the time to be offended over being compared to a 13-year-old girl.

“It was only a few minutes ago,” I said, trying to force myself to take calm, even breaths. “I was walking down a hallway—I’m not sure where. I was a little bit lost. But I came upon two men—

“Did they see you?” he interrupted me, his eyes narrowing.

I shook my head. “No. They were in the next hallway over.”

“So they’ve no idea it was you there? Could have been anyone?”

“They’d no idea there was anyone there at all. Only… I cast a spell, an illusion spell. It creates a shadow on the wall. I’ve…”

I trailed off, dawning horror washing over me as I realized what I had done.

“It’s the king’s shadow,” I said. “His silhouette. Baran says it helps to base it on someone you know very well.”

Surprisingly, Galmar did not immediately leap out of his chair and attempt to strangle me in his rage. Instead, he took the news with apparent calmness, his eyes only narrowing slightly.

“Did they seem as if they recognized him?” he asked.

I thought about it for a moment, then shook my head.

“No,” I said, the sick feeling leaving my stomach. “No, they didn’t! One of them asked who that was, then they both turned and ran. And… I suppose at first you wouldn’t really know it’s him, not unless you know his profile very well. Which most people wouldn’t.”

“None so well as yourself, I’d wager,” he said, grunting as he sat back in his chair. “And did anyone else see you? On your way back here?”

Here I cringed, for at least half a dozen servants had observed my frantic race through the castle.

“A few servants,” I admitted. “But when one stopped me I told her it was because I had seen a ghost. She seemed to believe me. I mean, she believed _I_ believed I’d seen a ghost.”

There was a distant look in his eyes, then, as he seemed to be calculating what to do with the information I’d given him. After a second, he got up and grabbed the tunic he’d evidently discarded over the side of a chair and pulled it on, for he was only wearing an undertunic and a pair of no doubt hastily pulled on trousers.

“On your feet,” he said, heading for the door now. “Ulfric should know of this.”

I did as ordered, my stomach clenching again, for I had a feeling _someone_ wouldn’t be too happy about me roaming the castle alone and in the middle of the night. And he wouldn’t be entirely wrong in worrying, either—it was a precarious political time in Skyrim’s history, and it really had been awfully naïve of me to do what I’d done. I sighed as I accompanied Galmar down the quiet hallway. I really did have a lot to learn about being married to a jarl—and a jarl who had started and won a civil war, at that.

I told Galmar that I would enter first, for propriety’s sake, and he nodded, humoring me, standing off to the side with his arms crossed over his chest. However, when I opened the door, I was startled to find myself face-to-face with the king, who blinked and looked down at me with equal surprise.

“Casien,” he said, and his surprise was soon replaced with relief, though that in turn was quickly followed by puzzlement. “Where have you been? I awoke and… Galmar?”

For he had glanced past my shoulder and noticed the silent, hulking presence of his friend.

“We’d best both come inside, Ulfric,” said Galmar, and the king’s expression darkened as he stepped back and let us both enter.

“What happened?” he asked, once he’d closed the door behind us. “Is he all right? Are you all right?” he said, turning the question directly to me, his eyes peering at me with a combination of anxiety and irritation. I sighed, inwardly.

“He’s fine,” came the gruff reply. “But he’s got something to tell you. And I’m afraid you won’t like it. I certainly don’t.”

So I once again explained my disturbing, mysterious encounter. There was only one couch in the small sitting room, so I sat down on it, folding the robe up under me as I sat cross-legged. Ulfric sat beside me, and Galmar, though there was a single plush chair in the opposite corner, remained standing, his expression guarded. Ulfric, too, remained for the most part noncommittal, though his eyes did harden a little, and his brow furrowed, as I spoke of the potential assassins within the halls of Dragonsreach.

“You should not have been roaming about alone, and at such a time,” he finally said, a frown crossing his face.

“I know,” I said, sighing, for I had expected this. And furthermore, I deserved it. “I’m sorry.”

But instead of reprimanding me further, he simply placed a warm hand on my shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. He turned to Galmar then, the pair exchanging a look.

“Well, Galmar,” he said. “Your thoughts?”

“We place a guard at the hallway’s entrance, day and night,” came the steady reply. “A Stormcloak guard. And another at each door.”

“The first I concede without question. However, constant surveillance of four separate entrances will necessitate a reasonable guard rotation. We did not travel with enough in our company to allow for such a rotation.”

“One at the hallway’s entrance and one at your door, then.”

“Won’t people wonder why we’ve decided to do that?” I asked, my voice sounding a bit timid even to my ears. I wasn’t sure my opinion would be welcomed.

But the king nodded, his hand rubbing thoughtfully over his beard. “It will. But I think I am willing to allow others to accuse me of being overly cautious if it means ensuring your safety, as well as the safety of your daughters, Galmar.”

“And your own safety, you stubborn fool,” said his friend, and Ulfric only frowned but didn’t negate the statement.

“Do we tell any of the others?” Galmar added, and at first I thought he meant his daughters and Hellina, but then I realized he meant the other traveling dignitaries.

The king was silent for a long time, then:

“No,” he finally said. “It would alert the conspirators. At present, we at least have an idea as to their plan. And if Casien was seen running through the halls tonight—they will know who it is they have to blame.”

I felt my blood run cold, even as I felt an uncomfortable flush creeping up my face.

“I’m really sorry,” I said lamely. “I shouldn’t have lost my head. I was just so…”

“Be at peace, my heart,” said the king, resting a hand on the back of my neck. “I do not blame you. But a dark elf fitting your description will not be difficult to place. The staff will soon know who it was that allegedly saw a ‘ghost’ this evening. It would not be hard for the conspirators to trace you to my party.”

It was now nearly dawn, but rather than wake the girls, Ulfric sent Galmar down to the barracks to arrange the guard rotation. A servant arrived to stoke the fireplace, so we asked her to have an early breakfast sent up for the two of us. It was a quiet, solemn affair. The king was brooding, deep in thought, no doubt for obvious reasons. His reassurances had assuaged me from guilt, but I was no less concerned and alarmed. As nervous as I’d been to come here, having to worry about assassins had never really entered into my mind.

“Is it really okay that we not tell any of the others?” I finally ventured, for I felt rather awful that someone else might not be properly prepared simply because the king wished to keep me safe.

“I may tell those few I trust,” he said. “But consider that we do not know the identity of the two men you overheard. They may have been hired by someone from one of the holds loyal to Elisif and Tullius. Or they may even have been hired by Laila, Skald, or Korir.”

“But Korir and Skald aren’t even here,” I said, surprised.

“No, they are not. And that fact would certainly excuse them from suspicion.”

I understood his meaning, and felt sudden trepidation, for Eleanor and Brelyna were traveling with Jarl Korir from Winterhold. Of course, just because a man was capable of planning an assassination to facilitate his political aspirations didn’t mean he was a danger to those traveling with him—especially a young assistant librarian and her apprentice mage friend. Nevertheless, it was hard not to worry, and I knew I wouldn’t feel relief until they were here—and even then, they would apparently be walking into the lion’s den with me here at Dragonsreach. Out of the kitchen and into the fire, as they sometimes say.

Around 8 or so, Galmar knocked on our door, and when Ulfric told him to enter, he did so. This time, trailing behind him were his two daughters and Hellina, all of whom looked rather grim, so I surmised they had been filled in on what had happened.

“Before we get started,” said Una, crossing her arms and meeting my eyes, “How exactly are we dealing with Casien? Are we angry with him for putting himself in danger yet again, or proud of him for learning about the nefarious plot?”

“Yet again?” I asked, blinking. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Uncle’s only mentioned you being attacked by wolves a million times,” said Ania, grinning. She was leaning against the wall by one of the bay windows, where Hellina was now perched and smiling at me, of course. “Not to mention how you took on a master necromancer all by yourself.”

“First of all,” I said, “I _wasn’t_ by myself. Second—

“Casien’s foolhardy tendencies are not the purpose of this discussion,” said Ulfric.

“My ‘foolhardy tendencies’?” I repeated. Really, did _everyone_ think me a walking bucket of incompetence?

“I’m sure you disciplined him well enough, Uncle,” said Una, smiling prettily at me.

It took me a second for her teasing to hit home; I gaped at her, feeling my cheeks flush, not a little bit taken by the thought of being ‘punished’ by my lover—but I pushed the dangerously pleasant thought aside so that I could be properly enraged.

“A _sex_ joke,” I said. “She just made a _sex_ joke about us.” I threw my hands up. “Isn’t that, like, treason or something?”

“It is not,” said the king mildly.

There was a low, grumbling sound that made me glance at Galmar, then. His own arms were crossed over his broad chest, and his jaw beneath his heavy beard was clenched tight, his eyes spearing through each and every one of us.

“Perhaps we might keep the teasing to a minimum before Galmar loses his patience,” continued the king.

“Sorry, Father,” said Una, and she did look genuinely contrite.

“If we’re all ready to start acting like adults now and take this issue seriously,” growled her father. “Guards have been posted. One at the entrance to the hallway, one at the entrance to this room. However, there’s nothing to keep an assassin from entering through the windows. Rooftop’s easily accessible, and it’d be simple work to repel down from there. From now on, we sleep two to a room. No one is ever in a room by themselves. No one wanders the castle alone.” His eyes sought and held mine with such intensity I could feel my soul start to wither inside me. “And no one leaves the castle. Period.”

“But Father—!” cried Una, her face aghast.

“Don’t you ‘But Father,’ me, girl. And Ulfric, if you don’t back me on this, I’ll resign this instant.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” said the king, and his voice, though still mild, now held its usual tone of authority. But then his expression seemed to soften. “We need not overreact, old friend. If we confine ourselves to our rooms like frightened animals it will weaken our presence here at the moot. I agree that we should not spend our nights alone. You I am not so concerned about. We could move Una to one of the larger rooms, and she might share it with her sister and Hellina. I believe there is one right next to this one.”

“The servants will notice,” I pointed out. “They’ll talk, and gossip, and wonder why the girls all moved. The loyal ones will report to the Gray-Manes, too.”

“I don’t trust that Vignar Gray-Mane,” said Ania, frowning.

“I’d trust my own horse before I trusted that self-serving old goat,” growled her father.

“Then what do you propose?” asked the king.

It took me a moment to realize he was talking to me. He asked the question calmly enough, and his eyes when they met mine were serious. He was, I realized, genuinely asking my opinion. It flustered me at first, but I recovered quickly enough.

“My friend,” I said, clearing my throat. “Ysme. Have her sleep with Una. It worked for us, didn’t it? People thought we were lovers; servants like that kind of gossip, and it’s fairly harmless.”

Ania smirked at her sister. “I won’t tell Hasan if you won’t.”

“Who’s Hasan?!” barked Galmar, but Una blushed and evidently refused to answer.

Ulfric nodded.

“Ysme will sleep in Una’s room then. I agree, also, that we should not wander the castle alone. As for the city outside the castle—” He paused, and looked at each of the girls. “You may visit Whiterun, but you must take a guard with you. And you should not go alone.”

Una sighed, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Easy enough for those who were allowed to tote their partners with them to Whiterun.”

I could see the sour expression on Galmar’s face as he no doubt began to think about the mysterious Hasan again, so I thought it prudent to speak up.

“If you wish to visit the city, I’ll go with you,” I said, smiling. “I’d like to see Whiterun. Especially now that it isn’t raining.”

Ulfric frowned at this, which naturally caused Galmar to snort.

“Happy enough to order my girls about, but not so happy when that boy of yours threatens to go where you can’t follow, eh?”

“I can accompany you both into the city,” said the king, a stubborn set to his broad shoulders now.

“No, you can’t,” said Galmar. “You agreed to meet with Laila Law-Bringer and her good-for-nothing sons for lunch.”

“I will cancel.”

“You’ll either cut the apron strings or refuse to let the boy go,” replied Galmar, sounding bored now. “You aren’t canceling your meeting.”

“We’ll go and find Ysme and Torbin,” I cut in, trying not to let on how miffed the words _apron strings_ had made me. “It’ll only help encourage the rumor about something going on between Ysme and Una.”

“Great,” said Una, rolling her eyes, and acting very eighteen, I thought smugly, from my grand age of nearly twenty-one.

Ulfric sighed, his eyes meeting and holding mine—I could tell he was displeased with me, but I pretended not to notice.

“Very well,” he said. “Galmar will escort you to the barracks.”

I didn’t think that was necessary—and _I_ was the one who’d been so terrified of the assassins roaming about Dragonsreach that I’d raced back here nearly frightened out of my senses. But I didn’t see the point in arguing. I also knew that he was sending Galmar instead of taking us himself to really communicate how displeased he was with me. I thought he was being more than unusually pigheaded about the whole thing, but I wasn’t about to confront him about it in front of the others, so I just said I needed to get my cloak, weapons, and a basket—we were bound to do a bit of shopping, after all, and so help me, if there was a bookshop in Whiterun, I was going to find it—before leaving with Una and Galmar.

“You don’t have any spousal duties to attend to today?” asked Una, as we headed out together, her father looming behind us.

“I guess not,” I said, shrugging. “I’m sure he would have said something.”

“You’d both better be back for dinner,” said Galmar. “You especially,” he added, prodding me in the back with one finger.

“Ow,” I said, glaring over my shoulder at him. “Yes, fine, okay. I’ll be back in time to sit halfway across the room from my future husband and try not to embarrass all of Windhelm while doing it.”

“Hmph,” came the surly response.

Una exchanged a look with me and smiled.

We made our way down to the first floor of the castle, Galmar directing us where to go. Eventually, we headed through a hallway which opened up to a sort of common room, where off-duty soldiers were lounging about, playing cards, eating and drinking, or just chatting.

“Stormcloaks!” barked Galmar, and a group of soldiers bearing our uniforms immediately looked up from their table.

“Sir?” said the commanding officer, getting hastily to his feet, the others doing the same.

But instead of addressing them further, Galmar looked at me, and I realized he was waiting for me to speak up.

“Ysme Wind-Runner,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound as timid as I felt. “Do any of you know where she is?”

“Aye, just outside in the training yard with that young whelp of hers,” said the commanding officer. “Sir,” he added, touching fist to chest.

“Um,” I said, flustered by his formal address—not to mention the salute. “Thank you.”

The officer nodded, glancing at Galmar, who nodded as well, indicating that he could sit back down.

Galmar led the way outside, Una and I trailing behind. I had to squint as the blue sky opened up before us, the bright, yellow sun beaming down from above. The storm was long gone, and the temperature had risen, as well.

Ysme and Torbin were facing off, though they were just one of many pairs who were sparring in the yard. It was a familiar picture, not dissimilar from the yard back home. A few of the fighters were shirtless under their armor, having worked up a sweat, which was probably the only difference.

Ysme was putting her young partner through his paces. Even from here, I could see why he’d been selected to replace Hanna. Young as he was, he was quick, and strong, and he met his partner’s attacks, if not with ease, with studied precision. Even so, Ysme still laughed and taunted him throughout, and had little trouble staying one step ahead of him, much to the amusement of those who had gathered to watch them.

“General,” said Ysme, pausing and panting once she noticed Galmar, who was rather hard to miss. Across from her Torbin started and stood at attention, saluting.

Galmar nodded at them both, then looked down at me and his daughter.

“Stay out of trouble, both of you,” he warned before turning and heading back inside.

Ysme walked over, sheathing her sword and lifting her brows at us. “What was that about?”

“I’ve volunteered you for guard duty,” I said. “Una and I are going into town. I’ll, um, explain later, once we’re alone.”

“Torbin can come, too,” said Una, smiling at him. He grinned and ducked his head, blushing—uh oh. I wondered just how attached Una was to the mysterious Hasan after all.

Quite a bit, apparently, as she immediately turned back to Ysme and me.

“Well, shall we?” She wrinkled her nose. “It smells like… Nine, I don’t even know around here.”

Ysme laughed. “That’s sweat, m’lady. Happens a lot down here in the south.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Come along, man-child. We’re on escort duty.”

I had Ysme take us out through the workers’ entrance, though Una said her father and uncle wouldn’t like that if they’d known. But I never liked to make a show, and here I was even more an anomaly than at Windhelm, for I was new and unknown—a dark elf engaged to the next High King of Skyrim! And just how many now knew of my lowly origins thanks to Saerlund Law-Giver? Gods forbid any of the Nords learn I was a mage, too.

We did eventually have to make our way down the high, stone steps, the same steps we had climbed when we’d first arrived. It was the only way down from Dragonsreach, other than, I suspected, numerous underground passages known only to the jarl and his or her family and closest companions. Such was the nature of castles.

The guards were either respectful, nodding at us as we passed, or ignored us completely. Were any of them imperial sympathizers? Or were some simply still loyal to their previous jarl? I didn’t doubt that some supported the Stormcloak cause, but I wasn’t naïve enough to believe it could be all of them, or even most. Surely, some of their fellows had fallen in battle—but then, I didn’t know if the jarl had ordered the guard to defend the city or if he had relied solely on imperial support. These were things Ulfric rarely shared with me, and then only if I asked.

The steps led down into the immense cobblestone courtyard we’d first arrived at. It was less busy this morning, though there were still a few fine-looking individuals saddling their horses—well-to-do guests from other holds, I imagined, though I suppose some Whiterun nobles might stable their mounts here as well.

“I never thought I’d miss seeing fur,” murmured Una.

I glanced at her, confused, and saw she was watching the nobles in the courtyard, too.

“Their dress,” she explained. “I’m not that big on fashion, but it’s rather obvious we’re not in Windhelm anymore, isn’t it? Fur cloaks, fur on the shoulders, fur on the boots and gloves—it just isn’t done here.”

“They actually wear linen in Falkreath,” chirped Torbin.

“Is that where you’re from?” asked Una, clearly trying to be polite.

“No! But I have an uncle who lives there. My sister and I used to visit. She’s ten years older than me. We’re actually from a little town not far from Riften.”

“He’s got his sights set, poor lad,” Ysme muttered, and I grinned and jabbed her in the side with my elbow.

“Don’t be so mean to him,” I muttered back. “He seems nice enough.”

“Aye, but I’m not wrong, am I? And she looks at him as if he were no better than the dirt beneath her boots.”

I wanted to defend Una, maybe even explain about the mysterious Hasan, but I didn’t feel it was my place to say anything. Though the conversation did remind me that I had rather a lot to tell Ysme regarding this morning’s conversation with the king and the Stone-Fist family.

“So anyway…” I began, and she gave me a knowing look. I cleared my throat before continuing. “In addition to volunteering you for escort duty this morning—and, well, for this entire trip—I, um, may have volunteered you for something else.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Okay, but first—you have to be able to keep a secret.”

She narrowed her eyes at me.

“What kind of secret? Is this like lovers’ stuff? You don’t look like you’re about to cry, so it can’t be. Mage stuff?” Her eyes widened suddenly. “It’s bloody king stuff, isn’t it?”

I winced. “Something like that.”

Knowing full well that Galmar would take his time killing me if he knew I were telling someone outside our immediate circle about the events from last night and this morning—I did so anyway, explaining my late night encounter with the assassins, my mad rush through the castle, my meeting with Galmar and the king, both last night and this morning, and what was ultimately decided upon.

“Me?!” hissed Ysme, though loud enough for both Una and Torbin to look back over their shoulders at us. “And _her_?!” She glared at me. “Are you out of your oblivion-addled mind?! Do you know what shit I’ll get from the others? I’ll never hear the end of it, not till I’m white as a Greybeard!”

“Well, what choice did we have?” I asked, glancing nervously around to make sure no one was listening too closely to our conversation. “Servants _will_ talk. And it’s better they talk about… well, _that_ , than the truth!”

“And if the servants let the assass—the _you-know-who_ know that the jarlings have all decided to bunk together, they’ll know something’s up.” She sighed. “I get it. I bloody get it! Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Think of it this way. You get to sleep in a super comfy bed. With a roaring fire, and a giant soaking tub to relax in every evening.”

“That does sound nice,” she said grudgingly.

“I take it you’ve told her,” said Una, after glancing back for the hundredth time.

“Told her what?” asked Torbin. He blinked at Ysme. “Told you what?”

“Um…” I glanced at Una.

“If you tell me, you tell him,” said Ysme. “We’re a team. Much as it pains me to admit it.”

I stopped and put my hand on her shoulder, our eyes meeting.

“That’s really big of you, Ysme,” I said, keeping my voice as serious as possible.

“Aw, sod off it!” she cried, pushing me away, though I was already laughing, and so were the other two, and Torbin was even blushing a little, too. I think her words really did touch him.

“Your father’s going to string me up by my toes if he learns what I’ve done,” I muttered to Una, once Torbin had been filled in on the details.

She snorted. “‘If’?”

I tried to push the disturbing thought from my head as we finally began to enter Whiterun’s marketplace. It was now nearly nine o’clock in the morning, and the streets were quite bustling with folk going about their daily business. We passed quite a few shops on our way to the main square, though none caught our interest just yet. Una said she was on a mission to purchase gifts for her younger sisters, and only a bookshop would have been enough to lure me indoors. Nevertheless, I couldn’t help noticing that people did give us odd looks—some were merely curious, but others were downright hostile. I caught sight of one man spitting on the ground after we had passed; another man narrowed his eyes, though luckily he didn’t reach for the sword at his side. I saw a woman, too, a hood drawn over her dark red hair, staring at us—no, at _me_. However, when I met her eyes with my own, she quickly pulled her hood further down and turned away from us.

“Are you feeling as unwelcome as I am right now?” I muttered to Una, as we carefully stepped around a large puddle.

She blinked at me. “What do you mean?”

I nodded towards a pair of women who were glaring daggers at us, the pair only one of many examples of townsfolk who were clearly not happy to see us.

“Oh,” she said. “Maybe coming into town wasn’t sure a great idea after all.”

“That’s what we’re here for,” chirped Ysme.

I wasn’t sure, though, if I should be grateful for her and Torbin’s presence or resentful of it. Not that I had anything personal against Ysme, of course; she was my dear friend. But they were both wearing Stormcloak armor over their blue Stormcloak uniforms. And thanks to their hovering presence, it was as clear as crystal where Una and I were from.

“Maybe it won’t be so bad in the open market,” said Una. She put her hand on my arm, pulling me along. “Come on.”

I was happy to leave the narrow streets—and all the judgmental, angry stares of the residents—behind. And Una was right to some degree; once the way opened up to the huge market square with its bustling crowds, shouting vendors, and various street performers, it was far easier for us to blend in. There were plenty of other out-of-towners, too, judging from their dress and accents—and how diverse the city was! It was like being back at the college again. There were humans and mer of every hue and height, and plenty of beast folk, as well. I saw quite a few Dunmer; most of these ignored me—not out of rudeness, I don’t think, but because there was nothing remotely extraordinary about encountering another Dunmer in the streets of Whiterun, which was quite a pleasant realization—but some seemed to pause and narrow their eyes at me before turning away.

That’s when I remembered the things that had been shouted at me when we’d first entered the city.

_Irileth_. What sort of person had she been? A great general, loyal to her king, and loyal to the people of Whiterun, who evidently returned that loyalty tenfold. It was still astonishing to see a Nord city express such loyalty towards a dark elf—my experiences in Windhelm had so colored my understanding of Skyrim, and the relationship between Nords and Dunmer. And yet, even here, in a place where my race shouldn’t matter, I was once again the target of angry staring and hurtful epithets.

“Don’t serve traitors,” said the woman behind the first stall we approached.

“We’re not traitors!” said Una, and I could see her father’s fiery temper starting to burn behind her blue eyes.

“Don’t know you,” said the woman. “But I know that one.” She jerked her chin at me. “Dark elf boy, dressed so pretty in your Windhelm fashions, toting your Stormcloak guards with you. You’re a traitor to your people, and to ours. And I won’t serve you.”

“Come on, Una,” I said, taking her arm and pulling her away before she could retaliate.

“Take your hands off your weapons,” I snapped at Ysme and Torbin, for both had their hands resting on their sword hilts, a wary look on their faces. “We’re not here to start a fight.”

“Wasn’t us that was starting it,” muttered Ysme, but she did as I asked.

“That woman had no right to talk about you like that,” said Una, jerking her arm angrily away from me as we moved away from the stall.

“She had every right,” I said, my voice grim to my own ears—as grim as I now felt. “Come on, just forget about it. Look, there’s another jewelry stand. I’m sure we’ll be able to find something for the girls there.”

People shifted out of our way as we approached, not necessarily, I think, because they recognized us but more on account of how we were dressed (richly, I had to admit) and the fact that we had our own personal guard. It made me uncomfortable, but there wasn’t anything I could really do about it. I hadn’t really thought too carefully about what to wear this morning, and, in all honesty, I didn’t really have anything simple and cheap enough that would allow me to be mistaken for an average citizen. And as for the guards… well, I understood why they had to be there, though in retrospect I might have asked Ysme and Torbin to don more generic armor.

Not that they would have necessarily agreed to do so.

The woman behind the stand was astonishingly beautiful. She had reddish-brown hair braided in the Nord style, tanned skin, and pretty features. An Imperial, if I had to guess, though one who had likely been born here. A little girl sat beside her, her daughter, probably, the child staring up at us with big, curious eyes.

The woman smiled at us. “How can I help—ah.”

The friendly expression faded from her face, even as her eyes darted back to Ysme and Torbin in their Stormcloak armor, then back to me. Her brow furrowed.

“You rode in yesterday with the new High King,” she said. It was not a question.

“Yes,” I said. “But he isn’t High King yet.”

“It’s a foregone conclusion at this point, isn’t it? My Mila and I watched as you all passed. So, is it true what they’re saying about you? A dark elf in Ulfric’s court?”

_And in his bed_. The words hung unspoken between us, and I suppose it came with being a mother—that she wouldn’t speak so brazenly in front of her daughter.

“I can’t really answer that,” I said, my words sounding stiff, even to my own ears, though they were belied by the warmth I could feel creeping up my face. “As I don’t really know what it is ‘they’ have had to say about me.”

“Oh, I think you know,” she said lightly. “Don’t take this the wrong way. I don’t want any trouble, not with you or Ulfric or the Stormcloaks, but I really can’t be seen serving you. Not after everything that happened. Not after what happened to Irileth.”

“I’m surprised at you, Carlotta,” said a voice from behind me.

Olfina Gray-Mane came to stand beside myself and Una. She flashed me a smile, and I noticed Jon Battle-Born hung back behind her, his arms crossed over his chest. I caught Torbin staring and couldn’t help rolling my eyes—the lad really had the worst luck.

“Lady Olfina,” said the merchant, her eyes widening in faint surprise. “I… like I said. I don’t want any trouble. But…”

“But you seem pretty intent on causing it,” said Olfina. She softened the words with a smile, though.

I honestly wanted no part in any of this, and was half-inclined to excuse myself and urge Una to return to Dragonsreach with me. But surprisingly, Carlotta only smiled back, the expression even a bit sheepish.

“I suppose you’re right about that,” she said. “But you know how it will look, if I’m seen selling to such folk.”

“But you’re not above serving me, I don’t think,” said Olfina. “Or at least you never have been. And you know my family supported Ulfric and his cause.”

Carlotta nodded, though her expression was guarded now. “The Gray-Manes are a respectable Whiterun family. As are the Battle-Borns,” she added, nodding towards Jon.

“Casien and Una are my friends,” Olfina returned, resting her hand lightly and briefly on my shoulder. “To not serve them would be to give offense to me, Jon, and both our families.”

“And I wouldn’t wish to do that.” Carlotta seemed to take a conscious, deep breath before turning towards us again, and—if she wasn’t quite smiling at us, she was still professional and polite. “Can I help either of you with something?”

“I was looking to buy something for my sisters,” said Una, casting me a hesitant look. I nodded encouragement that I didn’t necessarily feel. “Maybe… something reminiscent of Whiterun fashion?”

“These have been quite popular this spring, my lady,” said Carlotta, showing her a few pieces: first a set of silver rings, each with a sparkling gem in the center, then a few bracelets, ear cuffs, anklets, and finally some braided necklaces, the stones twined intricately together with leather. I never would have known which to pick, but Una made her selection quickly, buying one of the necklaces for each of her younger sisters.

“I hate to play politics with you, Carlotta,” said Olfina, keeping her voice low as we turned to leave. “But I’m afraid that’s just how things have to be at present.”

I didn’t hear Carlotta’s response as their voices were swallowed by the noise of the marketplace crowd. Una and I stepped away from the stall, doing our best not to meet the eyes of the people waiting behind us.

Jon, however, did meet my eyes, and smiled.

“She’s very good at this sort of thing, isn’t she?” he asked.

I managed a half-smile in return. “She is. And—even though I didn’t really have anything to do with it—I’m sorry the civil war has done this to your city.”

He shrugged and shook his head, folding his hands behind his back as we began to walk. “It’s nothing new, believe it or not. Our families have been the face of the civil war in Whiterun long before the war itself actually began. The Gray-Manes favored independence, while the Battle-Borns chose to align with the Empire. I’m no politician, so I can’t say which was the right or wrong side. But the war is over, now, and we all have to deal with the consequences, whether we had anything to do with it or not.”

I nodded, for that was true enough.

“I suppose that’s what you meant,” said Una, her voice a bit small, “when you said that woman really did have a reason to insult you.”

Jon blinked. “Carlotta insulted you?”

“No,” I said, “Not her. Another woman. Carlotta was very polite.”

He nodded. “Yes, she and Olfina have always been good friends. I would have been surprised—and disappointed—to learn that she had behaved badly.”

“Sorry about that,” said Olfina, rejoining us and smiling brightly. “People can be touchy around outsiders sometimes. Where to next?”

I wondered at her pretending as if she didn’t know why the merchants didn’t wish to serve us, but didn’t see a reason to press her on the issue.

“I think I can answer that,” said Jon, grinning. “Perhaps The Ink and Quill?”

Okay, I had to admit: _that_ name got my attention.

“What’s The Ink and Quill?” I asked, trying not to show how excited I was, for there really could be only one answer.

“Oh, only the largest bookshop in Whiterun,” said Olfina. “It’s run by a pair of retired artists, one a bard, the other an author.”

“Well, I don’t think Melina is exactly retired,” said Jon with a glance at me. “Melina’s the author. A poet, in fact.” He couldn’t seem to resist adding, his eyes glinting teasingly. “Her verse may not be to your taste. It’s certainly more modern than the likes of Bjald Song-Smith.”

“Ha, ha,” I said, rolling my eyes and ignoring Una’s tittering behind her hand, though I couldn’t help smiling as well. In any case, it served to take my mind off the events from this morning, and I found myself wondering if I’d even brought a large enough basket. I tried to imagine the look on the king’s face if I returned with more books than I could actually carry, perhaps having to enlist Ysme and Torbin’s aid. I snorted, trying to swallow the laughter I could feel bubbling up inside me.

“What’s so funny?” asked Una.

“Nothing,” I said, shaking my head. “To the Ink and Quill!”

“Finally, a battle cry I can truly get behind,” said Jon, grinning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, I apologize for how long it took to get this chapter out. It's getting near the end of the semester (I'm a teacher), and I'm just so exhausted at the end of each day that sometimes it's a struggle to even keep my eyes open. So I'm just not able to write every single day the way my heart really longs to!
> 
> Once the semester ends, I guarantee the pace will pick back up again ;D And ho boy, let's just hope young Casien and friends are ready! ;)


	8. Chapter 8

The Ink and Quill was everything I dreamed it could be. It was two full stories of bookshelves, and granted, each book cost a pretty septum, but I was no longer in a position of having to count out each coin before making my purchases. In fact, when I finally made my way up to the counter and plonked my armful of books down in front of the shopkeeper, she informed me that they could simply send the bill to Dragonsreach if I preferred; I was familiar with this form of payment, as it was generally how things were done in Windhelm, but I was surprised to have it offered to me here in Whiterun.

“That’s all right,” I said, cringing at the thought of Ulfric seeing the bill. “I’m sure I can take of it right now.”

“Whatever’s most convenient for you, my lord,” she said, smiling, and I tried not to show how unnerved being called ‘my lord’ still made me.

“I see you’ve not brought your servant with you, so we’ll wrap them up for you and set them in a satchel for you to sling over your shoulder,” she added, “That way you’ll not strain your arm carrying them back.”

I blinked, astonished by such kindness, even as I tried not to snort at the thought of having a servant following me around as if I were genuinely a person of import. “Thank you.”

I watched then, perplexed, as her eyes seemed to shift from me to something just over my shoulder; she gave a deferential little nod before turning to order the shop boy to see to my purchases.

I looked behind me and saw, of course, Olfina Gray-Mane.

“Having you for a friend seems to be rather… useful,” I said, arching a brow.

She smiled coyly back. “How perceptive you are—and I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I meant it as one,” I replied. “You’ve been kind to Una and me, though you didn’t have to be. Only… I’m sort of new at this, but...”

She frowned. “New at making friends?”

I shook my head, though, that may as well be true as well—not that I’d admit as much.

“New at being… well, not important, but linked to important people.” I paused to accept my new satchel of books, slinging it over my shoulders and trying not to grunt noticeably from the effort.

I glanced at Olfina as we exited the shop. “It’s just, I can’t help but wonder…”

But I hesitated, unsure if I should say what I was thinking.

“You can’t help wonder if my kindness towards you is in any way politically motivated,” she finished, and I had to admit, she was a sharp one.

“Yes,” I admitted, and was relieved when she only laughed.

“Befriending the betrothed of Ulfric Stormcloak—a young man who appears to be, for all intents and purposes, an honest, good-hearted, innocent person—would certainly be considered a clever move by many. And I don’t pretend to not be pleased to find that we get along. But I _do_ like you, Casien. And point of fact—I’ll remind you that _you_ first sat down by _us_.”

I had to laugh in return, for that much was true. Still, there was nothing saying she didn’t retire to her rooms last night and consider the benefits of befriending someone like me. And seeing Una and me struggling in the market this morning must have seemed an opportunity too good to pass up.

“That’s less than I thought you’d be returning with,” said Una, who’d been standing outside with Jon, Ysme, and Torbin. I had evidently been inside browsing for so long that the four of them had decided to wait here—and, in fact, Una even had a few more parcels in her basket. She must have visited another shop or two while I’d been inside.

“You didn’t go anywhere alone, did you?” I asked, nodding at her new purchases.

“I was happy to accompany Lady Una on her errands!” said Torbin, and from the corner of my eye, I saw Ysme briefly roll her eyes and shake her head.

“Did anyone give you guys any trouble?” I asked, for though Una was less memorable than me (being that she was a Nord), Torbin was still wearing Stormcloak armor.

Una shrugged. “They weren’t exactly polite, but they took my coin just the same. I found some perfume for Mother and hair ribbons for Inge, Asgar, and Nella.”

“Very thoughtful to think of your family so much,” said Jon, smiling politely.

“He’s right,” I said. “You should at least get something for yourself.”

“I suppose you’re the expert on _that_ ,” she said, eying the satchel around my shoulders.

“They’re not _all_ for me,” I protested, though I couldn’t suppress the somewhat painful, empty feeling that rose up at her words—for I hadn’t really any family to buy for. “I found a book for the king.”

“Jarl Ulfric likes books?” asked Jon, perking up noticeably. He glanced at Olfina. “A good sign, wouldn’t you say?”

I frowned. “A good sign of what?”

But Olfina only smiled, and Jon seemed to take his cue from her, so only laughed and told me to forget about it.

They had a few more shops to show us, and I was only too happy to let them, as we meandered about town. In nearly every establishment we entered, eyes narrowed upon seeing me, Una, and our guards, but then expressions cleared, a blanket of professionalism and politeness overlaying those previously narrowed eyes, as Olfina and Jon were spotted beside us.

I found some of the bath oils and soaps that had been stocked in our room, and filled my basket with them. I bought a few sweet treats to share with the king, still aware that he was really the only person I had to buy things for. But then I caught Ysme brushing her fingertips over a fine pair of gloves on display at the leatherer’s shop; she even tried them on, after first glancing around to see if anyone were watching. They seemed to fit, and she squeezed her hands into fists, apparently marveling at the suppleness—Stormcloak armor was well-made, but this was evidently fine quality leather.

I couldn’t resist purchasing them, though how I would manage to give them to her was a mystery for now. I suppose I was becoming wise to the ways of the world—or the ways of Whiterun during a moot, at least, for I knew if I were seen offering a gift to my personal guard rumors were sure to begin flying about our whirlwind affair. I could only imagine the looks intense disapproval on Galmar’s and Ulfric’s faces if such rumors made it back to Dragonsreach.

Afterward, Olfina suggested lunch. She led us back to the marketplace square, where we purchased meat buns and beers and found a place to sit on the wooden and stone benches which were scattered throughout the area. It was such a merry scene, too: children and dogs running back and forth; adults walking about with their purchases strewn over their arms, laughing and chatting; street performers and orators doing their best to sing or speak over the sound of the crowd.

“You seem to enjoy Whiterun,” said Olfina, evidently noting my observations.

I smiled sheepishly.

“It’s … very _different_ from Windhelm,” I said.

“Oh?”

I glanced at Una, but she only shrugged.

“Yes,” I continued, clearing my throat, and hoping I wasn’t constantly saying the wrong things. “I love Windhelm, but it’s very… well, _cold_. Celebrations are usually held indoors, even during summer.”

“The Mid Year Festival is always outdoors,” pointed out Una. “It’s usually not that cold.” She smirked. “Though maybe for you…”

I rolled my eyes, and all three—Una, Jon, and Olfina—laughed, though it was clearly a good-natured laugh.

“Are all Dunmer so cold-blooded?” asked Olfina.

“I wouldn’t know,” I said, finding the question an odd one. Just because I was Dunmer didn’t mean I knew how each and every other Dunmer felt about the weather. “I’ve just never been able to tolerate the cold. Winterhold was even worse than…”

I trailed off, my eyes widening. I couldn’t believe what I’d just said. Had I _really_ just slipped up and alluded to the fact that I’d spent some time in Winterhold? Future husband of the High King or not, what excuse could I possibly give for visiting that far northern city?

“Winterhold _is_ very cold,” said Una, evidently trying to save me, and act as though traveling so far north was the most every day thing in the world.

“What business did you have in Winterhold?” asked Olfina, open curiosity on her face, though I suspected it was feigned—she was too clever not to guess.

I swallowed.

“I attended the college for some time,” I said. “Ulfric sent me there during the war. He thought it would be safer for me.”

Yes, if I spun it so that it was more about the jarl protecting his sweet beloved, and not so much about me being so full of magic I was a danger to all those around me—this just might work.

“You’re a mage!” said Jon, clearly surprised. His own beloved, however, did _not_ look so surprised.

“I am,” I said, hearing my own voice cave in a little at the admission. “Is that… does it bother you?”

The pair exchanged a look. Jon shrugged, shaking his head at me.

“I’ve nothing against magic or magic-users,” he said carefully. “I know many associate its presence with the Thalmor, but… I suppose we all know anyone can be born with the ability to wield it. Though, I must admit… I’m glad I wasn’t.”

“Jarl Balgruuf kept a court mage,” said Olfina. “He was a little odd, but altogether harmless, I think.”

I wondered what had become of him—if he had perished like Irileth, or if he were imprisoned with Balgruuf and his family, or—well, in truth I wasn’t quite certain _what_ had become of Whiterun’s jarl. Ulfric had said in his letter long ago that he was not to be executed, and several times his name had come up during those dreaded official dinners I was forced to attend, but beyond that, I didn’t know what had presently become of him.

“Well, Casien’s no court mage,” said Una, bless her. “I’m certain Uncle Ulfric sent him to Winterhold to keep him safe. He’s no warrior, either, after all,” she added, nudging me playfully.

“Ulfric is very fond of you,” said Olfina, smiling curiously at me.

“People who intend to marry are usually very fond of one another,” I said, perhaps a bit too testily, but I did so dislike discussing my relationship, and especially with someone I wasn’t altogether sure I could trust.

She blinked.

“Of course. I meant no offense.”

“It’s only a little surprising, you see,” said Jon. “Ulfric Stormcloak is more a name and an idea than a man. Even when he led his army here to Whiterun, it was as if he were some god of war, a larger than life figure. It’s said to be a requirement that a jarl be a great warrior, you know, but not all of them are so eager to prove it.”

“I don’t know that he was eager to _prove_ anything,” I said, unable to resist defending my lover. “But he was and still is very passionate about his cause and his country. _Our_ country,” I added, though I wasn’t quite sure why. “He doesn’t prance and preen about to make people think he’s some great and powerful king. He does what he does because he thinks it will make life better for the people of Windhelm, and for Skyrim, too.”

“I’ve no doubt that he does,” said Olfina, her voice as smooth as butter, though there was slight amusement in her expression. “And he is lucky to have such a staunch defender so close to his heart.”

“That’s just it,” agreed Jon, “No one would have expected Ulfric Stormcloak of all people to even have a heart. I don’t mean that as a personal attack, for I’ve never met him. How many people have? But to learn that this great man has someone like _you_ in his life—well, it’s a surprise, but believe me, not an unpleasant one.”

I had to be satisfied with their cryptic responses—Jon’s less so than Olfina’s, for I suspected she was always weighing her words and intentions carefully, no matter how much she professed to like me.

After lunch, Una and I decided to return to Dragonsreach, so we bid the pair good-bye. Back in the castle, Ysme offered to train Una, so I in turn offered to take Una’s purchases up to her room. Thanks to Galmar’s decree that none of us ever wander the castle alone, however, Torbin volunteered to come with me. I couldn’t help feeling ridiculous at being escorted through Dragonsreach as if I were some important dignitary—assuming there were assassins lurking about, I seriously doubted I was a potential target. The whole situation made me miss Windhelm something fierce.

After I deposited Una’s things, along with Ysme’s new gloves and a note telling her to spread the word that Una had bought them for her instead of me, for it would fuel any helpful rumors about them being together—she was seriously going to kill me for that, and I couldn’t help smirking as I wrote the note—I waved good-bye to Torbin, nodded at the guard stationed outside the king’s rooms, and disappeared inside.

I was quite happy to spend the next few hours with myself and my new books. I liked Olfina and Jon, but dealing with them was exhausting, and Una and I were sort of friends by default. So far we didn’t seem to have all that much in common, other than our mutual love for Windhelm and its leader.

It was startling to realize how much I cared for a city which had once all but turned its back on me. I distinctly recalled the long, dark days when the tall, stone walls of Windhelm had felt oppressive and uncaring, when the bitter cold had sapped me of all strength and feeling. The castle had seemed like a beacon of equality nestled in the heart of an all too cruel city. Of course I’d been wrong about that, too: Nords had still been wholly in charge, everywhere I looked.

Today, things were changing, albeit slowly. I thought about what Eleanor had said, long ago: that she wondered if the people of Windhelm knew who it was they truly had to thank. At the time, I thought she’d put far too much stock in my influence over Ulfric. But now even Galmar feared that influence—or rather, he feared that perceived influence being taken advantage of by Ulfric’s enemies.

Thinking about my lover made me miss him. I closed the book I was reading and sighed, rolling over onto my back and gazing up at the ceiling. I was lying on the bed, which had been neatly made, something that only happened about once a week back in Windhelm, when the servant passed through. It was a comfortable bed, but there were no warm furs to nestle into, and the blankets were thin, albeit beautiful…

We hadn’t made love in this bed yet, I thought. (My thoughts had grown idle and quite silly, I’ll admit.)

As if on cue, the outer door opened, and in walked the king. He looked tired and annoyed, and I recalled that he’d had a meeting with Laila Law-Giver at lunch. I wondered what other business he’d had to attend to afterward, for that would have been hours ago.

“How was your day?” I asked, watching from my upside down position as he unbuckled his sword belt and tossed it irritably aside.

“Ask me if I should enjoy swimming in a bed of snakes,” he growled, running his fingers through his yellow hair. “For that is what I have been doing.”

I couldn’t help thinking of Olfina. Not that she was a snake—but she was clever, and I wasn’t stupid enough to think she did not see the advantage in befriending me. It made me feel suddenly as tired as he looked.

“And you?” he asked, coming and collapsing into the chair beside the bed, his head resting against the back, his eyes sliding closed. “How did you enjoy all that Whiterun had to offer?”

“It was lovely,” I said, surprised by my own admission—for it was. “It was so warm and cheerful. Not like Windhelm at all. Don’t get me wrong; Windhelm is home, but it’s nice to be able to walk outside and feel the sun on my face and have the wind blow through my hair without having to pull my cloak about me.”

“He has spoken,” he said, not opening his eyes. “We shall move the seat of the High King to Whiterun without delay.”

I laughed. “You’re so mean!”

He opened his eyes. “I see you bought a new book.”

“Oh? And how do you know this is a new book? Maybe this is one of the books I brought with me.”

He just looked at me.

“Fine,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I bought a new book. Maybe more than one book. And a few other things.”

“How many more, and how many other things.”

“I bought you something as well!” I said, springing to my feet and going to search through the satchel. I pulled out the book on Breton folktales then came and plopped down on his lap, making him jump a little, for his eyes had closed again.

“And what is this?” he asked, looking with interest despite himself as I presented the book.

“Remember? You thought for sure you had a copy, but you could never find it.”

A faint smile crossed his lips, then, as he began to thumb through the pages. He paused at the title of one story—an old favorite, perhaps, and I could see his eyes moving slightly as he scanned the first few lines.

“My mother read this to me when I was young,” he said, his fingers running absently over the rest of the text. He flipped forward a bit more, pausing over another title. “This one as well.”

“So that’s why you were so certain you had the book,” I said, my voice soft. He never, ever spoke of his mother, not for as long as I had known him.

“Yes,” he said. “But I suppose it must have gotten lost.” He closed the book, then met my eyes. “Thank you.”

I smiled. “You’re welcome.”

“And what else did you do, besides shop for books?” he asked, settling his arms around my waist.

I had rather ask him what _he_ had done all day, but I suspected he had little wish to talk about it. So I indulged him, telling him of how we had recruited Ysme and Torbin to accompany us. How Una and I had faced difficulties in the marketplace, how we were even refused service until the arrival of Olfina Gray-Mane and Jon Battle-Born. His brow furrowed as he listened, but I don’t think he was at all surprised by our initial reception.

“Olfina seems a kind enough person, but I can’t help thinking she has some underlying motive in helping and befriending Una and me. Jon, at least, seems sincere enough. I like him; he wants to be a bard, eventually, but things are rather difficult right now what with the end of the war and his family and all. And I suspect he and Olfina will want to get married soon.”

This seemed to startle my lover, the furrow in his brow deepening.

“Get married,” he said. “Get married to a Gray-Mane?”

“Yes?” I looked at him, returning his frown with one of my own. “It’s pretty obvious they’re in love, for all they try to hide it. I mean, they’re always together, and the way they look at each other… I mean, it’s _obvious_.”

He narrowed his eyes at me.

“You are sure of this?”

“Well, I don’t know if they genuinely have plans to marry. But are they lovers? Yes. He practically dotes on her every word. And she tries to look very calm and cool, and she’s very good at it, but when she looks at him—well, like I said, it’s just obvious.”

“Do other people not know?” I asked, when he seemed to become lost in thought. “Why does it even matter?”

“The Gray-Manes and the Battle-Borns are the two most important families in Whiterun,” he finally said. “And they despise one another. Vignar Gray-Mane, who believes he will become jarl, continues to do all he can to stoke the enmity between the two families. For years, there has been a stalemate between them, but if the Gray-Manes take Dragonsreach, the shift in power will not sit well with the Battle-Borns, and all those who support them. I have been… uneasy on this matter, but I know not what do.”

“But if Olfina and Jon are in love, then it must mean the hatred between their families isn’t as deep-rooted as everyone thinks.”

“Mm,” came the noncommittal reply.

“What are you thinking?” I prodded after a few silent seconds went by.

“That Vignar Gray-Mane ought not be so certain of his appointment as jarl. Come.” He gave my hip a brief squeeze and a pat. “We must prepare for dinner.”

“Already?” I glanced at the bed, my earlier thoughts coming delightfully to the fore. “Couldn’t we…?”

“No.”

I looked at him, flummoxed by the abrupt refusal.

“That’s it? Just ‘No’?”

“Aiming pitiful brown eyes in my direction will not change my mind. No, little roebuck, we must prepare. For you are eating dinner with _me_ this evening. And I will not have you tossed to the vultures without a little foreknowledge.”

My heart sank. As much as I’d complained about not getting to sit together during dinner, I’d honestly been looking forward to sitting with Una and chatting with Olfina and Jon again, perhaps meet some of the other younger people. It was still a little exhausting—I was hardly an extrovert, and I still felt as if the wrong words falling from my lips could potentially ignite another civil war—but just thinking about the solemn faces at the head of the table last night had me shuddering with dread.

“Is that really necessary?” I asked, knowing full well I was fighting a losing battle. “Galmar wouldn’t want—”

“Galmar is not king, nor would he object. We have spent the entire day apart, and that should satisfy his concerns, which I am far from convinced are as serious as he claims. But the others must meet you, and know who it is that shall sit by my side in Windhelm.”

“Couldn’t you just tell them I’m your dirty little secret? Like, oh, that’s just that servant boy I like to fuck; he means nothing to me.”

“Come, on your feet. You have nothing to feel nervous about.”

So I got grudgingly to my feet and watched as he made his way over to the desk and pulled out a sheet of parchment. He sat down and, after dipping quill to ink, wrote out several names and lineages under each hold; then we went into the sitting room and sat down together, where he had me memorize all the family names, as well as the most important members within each city—in essence, those jockeying for either the position of jarl or a place in the new jarl’s court.

There were the Silver-Bloods of Markath, whom Ulfric did not like, but to defy them completely would be to create immense political upheaval—something that city did not need at present. The least offensive was Thongvar Silver-Blood, but he was less intelligent than his brother and easier to manipulate. Betrid, his sister-in-law, was both clever and ruthless and would bear close watching.

Morthal was a bit of a mess. Jarl Idgrod’s husband had been killed in battle, and Idgrod herself had chosen exile rather than confinement. Word had reached Solitude after the war that she had left Skyrim on a ship bound for High Rock. Curiously, her daughter, Idgrod the Younger, had not left with her. The most likely contenders for the throne were a wealthy couple who owned a mine just south of the city.

The other holds were in similar states. Denegeir of Stuhn was the former jarl of Falkreath, and a great Stormcloak supporter, yet he was paranoid and many considered him unfit to rule. He had a far more reasonable and thoughtful brother, but it seemed the brother had no interest in becoming jarl. Several other nobles—or ‘thanes’ as they are often called in this country—naturally wanted the position, but none matched the brothers in terms of influence, support, and money. Whiterun had been all but claimed by the Gray-Mane family, who now took every opportunity to smear the reputation of their mortal enemies, the Battle-Borns. Solitude, of course, was a mess. Elisif had had many, many nobles in her court, and each and every one of them felt they had a rightful claim to the throne. This list was the longest, too, and I struggled to memorize all their names.

Once I had, though, and once Ulfric was satisfied with my progress, we began to prepare and dress for dinner. Despite his reassurances, I was terribly nervous, and second-guessed myself constantly as I tried to figure out what to wear. I once again despaired over my relative youth, though I suppose it was a small comfort to know that being Dunmer wouldn’t matter as much here as it sometimes did (though perhaps not as much as it used to) back in Windhelm.

Once we were both ready, we exited our rooms and made our way down towards the dining hall.

I glanced at the guard who stood at the entrance to our hallway; he smiled a little when our eyes met—all of the guards who’d accompanied us seemed to like me, for which I was grateful.

“Have you heard anything about…?” I asked, keeping my voice low.

“No.” He rest a reassuring hand on my shoulder as we walked. “We remain vigilant. You need not fear.”

But I wasn’t necessarily afraid—at least not for myself. His injury during the war had opened my eyes to the fact that he was not invulnerable. And though he was an experienced warrior, the threat of assassination was still that: a very real and present threat.

I had to shake the thought from my head as we finally entered the dining hall. The table was about half-full at this point, and there were plenty of vacant seats. I tried to see if I could spot the Stone-Fist girls, but I was immediately arrested by the realization that all eyes had turned in our direction: the better to observe the arrival of the future High King, and to wonder and gossip at who it was that walked by his side.

We approached the head table and took our seats.

“Your cook outdoes herself again, Vignar,” said Ulfric, reaching for a roasted haunch of venison after pouring us both a glass of wine.

“Yes,” said Vignar, clearly preening at the compliment. “She was Balgruuf’s cook, but I decided to keep her on. No sense fixing something that isn’t yet broken, eh?”

_And I’m sure a woman who has no doubt spent her life working here appreciates not being sacked_ , I thought, but of course I kept the thought to myself, and only aimed a dark look the man’s way when he wasn’t watching.

“Well, Ulfric,” said an older woman with dark red hair. “This is most certainly not General Galmar sitting at your side.”

“It is not. Casien, this is Jarl Laila Law-Giver of Riften. Laila, this is my intended, Casien Yedlin.”

Laila tilted her head and smiled as she studied me, though I don’t think any introductions were truly needed. She knew well enough who I was.

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Casien,” she said. “I’m sure you’ve had the distinct displeasure of meeting my youngest, Saerlund. This is my eldest, Harrald, who is of a sturdier and altogether more pleasing disposition.”

“Thank you, Mother,” said Harrald, rolling his eyes as he sipped his wine, though he did nod politely at me as we were introduced.

“You’re quite right to have an elf in court, Ulfric,” said Laila. “They are such clever creatures, far more than most give them credit for. I would be lost without Anuriel.”

“I heartily agree,” said a middle-aged man with twin braids on either side of his temples. “My Melaran may be a cantankerous old bastard, but he sure knows how to handle a business ledger.”

“Such a useful people,” agreed Laila, though the smile she gave me was rather sly.

“I highly doubt Ulfric keeps the lad on account of his being useful,” said a gruff man to our right.

He was wearing Markath green and gold, and had a silver pendant pinned to his lapel. A Silver-Blood, if I had to guess, perhaps even Thongvar himself, considering his quick defense of Ulfric—who seemed fairly disinterested by the conversation, I might add, though his knee rest consciously against my own the moment Laila made her ridiculous comment about elves.

“Oh no, quite right,” laughed the man with the braids. “The fairer members of the race can be quite pleasing in other ways, indeed.”

“They aren’t horses, you brute,” said the woman beside him, scowling. She looked at me. “I must apologize for my brother. He is, as you can see, a brute.”

“He is very quiet, though, this elf of yours, Jarl Ulfric,” said another woman, gazing curiously at me. She had white, curly hair, and sat next to Vignar, so I supposed she must be his wife.

“I have not yet had reason to talk,” I said.

Laila beamed.

“There,” she said, gesturing vaguely at me. “Did I not tell you? So very clever.”

“I am glad you approve of my choice in consort,” said Ulfric, though it seemed clear to me from his tone of voice that he didn’t give a skeever’s tail about her opinion nor anyone else’s—especially not about me.

“Yes, I’m sure you have been quite anxious about it,” she returned, snorting good-naturedly. “Well!” she said, turning to me again. “Yedlin. I do not know that name. Which of the Dunmer Houses is your family connected to?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “My family never knew anything of wealth and didn’t care much about lineages. I grew up on Solstheim.”

“Working-class origins,” said the man I thought must be Thongvar Silver-Blood. “I approve.”

“But the Silver-Bloods are not working class people,” I said, surprised by the comment. I felt my face turn red when several of the nobles looked at me in shock. The couple sitting beside Thongvar looked positively fuming, but some of those from the other holds looked highly amused.

“No we are not,” agreed Thongvar, and it must be said that, unlike those sitting beside him, he was not at all insulted by my guileless comment. “But we appreciate those who must work hard to earn their way in this world. Our mines could not continue if we did not. Indeed, Markath itself would crumble to the ground were it not for the efforts of hard-working men and women.”

“I would not be so quick to discount your own blood, Thongvar,” said his sister-in-law (I was assuming her identity, but felt reasonably sure of it). Her voice was stiff, and her eyes glared daggers in my direction. “Few work harder than myself or your brother.”

“He is not discounting it,” said Ulfric, and I got the sense that people tended to be surprised when he spoke up. They also all stopped and listened. “But to suggest that sitting in a counting house counting septums is equivalent to cleaving a pick-axe into hard stone for eight hours a day is either lunacy or self-deception, the latter of which can only be the product of pride.”

“To hear a man such as yourself speak ill of pride is rather oxymoronic, would you not say?” asked Laila with a faint smile.

“True,” he agreed. “I do not lack for pride. Fortunately, I am constantly surrounded by those who would remind me that I am, after all, only a man—king or otherwise.”

And _he took my hand_. Right there, on the table, for all the others to see. I stared down at his large hand wrapped around my own, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks.

“We should all be so lucky,” murmured one woman whom I didn’t recognize and couldn’t place. She could be from Morthal, or a Soltitude thane, for all I knew. But her eyes when they met mine were kind.

Dinner continued in this same fashion for the next hour or so. Laila was an expert at introducing new topics, and I noted she most enjoyed sitting back and watching the chaos and tension that her own words had ignited. When things began to die down, she would jump in and stir the pot, so to speak, just a little bit more. Her son Harrald seemed bored by her antics and didn’t speak much, though he exchanged a few more words with me, politely inquiring about everyone back in Windhelm or asking me how I liked Whiterun. The man who’d made the crass comments about elves was Erikur, and his sister Gisli sat beside him. Gisli never lost an opportunity to needle her brother, and though I appreciated her sticking up for me, her constant antagonism was grating. Thongvar and Vignar both seemed in competition with one another to see who could impress Ulfric the most. The rest simpered and snapped at one another throughout, depending on the topic at hand. An Argonian sat next to the kind woman who had smiled at me, but she and he both sat too far away for me to try to strike up a conversation. Throughout it all, Ulfric remained mostly silent, though again, whenever he did speak up, the others did not fail to fall silent and listen.

At some point, I noticed a servant come and hover near Vignar Gray-Mane and whisper something into his ear.

“Ah,” he said, straightening, and facing us all again. “It seems Jarl Korir has arrived. Winterhold is finally here.”

My heart leapt in my chest at the news. I touched my lover’s arm without thinking, and he looked at me. His expression told me he knew exactly where my thoughts had taken me.

After a moment, he put his hand over mine and leaned over, murmuring into my ear, “Later. I promise.”

Suffice it to say, I couldn’t wait until the dinner was over. At last Ulfric excused us from the others; my sleepy face probably helped him make his case, though I perked up once I realized I was finally free.

On our way back to our rooms I was so excited I wrapped my arm impulsively around his, and he did not draw back from me. I squeezed it without thinking, then waved at a passing servant, who paused and bowed respectfully at us.

“A librarian and an apprentice mage from Winterhold College were traveling with the jarl and his party,” I said. “Do you know where they’ve been placed?”

“No, my lord,” he said. “But I can find out, and have word sent to you as soon as possible.”

I brightened. “Thank you!”

He nodded and bowed again, and I was too overjoyed at the prospect of soon seeing my two friends that I didn’t even think to feel awkward over his deferential treatment.

“This will be a happy end to a tedious night for you,” said my lover, as we continued making our way back to our rooms.

“Oh, it wasn’t so bad,” I said, and when he arched a brow at me, I only grinned. I was indeed too happy to reflect overmuch on what I’d just endured during dinner.

“You should know,” he began again, after we had walked for a minute or so, “That their attacks against you were purposeful, though they were meant more for me than for you.”

I gave him a quizzical look.

“That’s why you didn’t defend me,” I said slowly, for I had thought it odd, especially after what Erikur had said. Now that I thought about it, implying that Ulfric was stupid enough to marry someone just because he found them pretty was… insulting.

“You needed no defense. They could see you for who you truly are. No one will leave thinking I have chosen unwisely.”

I laughed, a little uneasy. “You give me way too much credit. I barely said a word.”

“You did not rise to their baiting. Jarl Laila does not truly hold such beliefs about elves. She was merely testing you.”

“Her son does,” I said quickly, thinking of how he had attacked me only the other night at dinner. “The younger one, that is. Or maybe he just doesn’t like that I used to be a servant.”

“What Saerlund Law-Giver likes and dislikes is irrelevant. He will never be jarl. His own mother can barely stand the sight of him.”

Back in our rooms, I found myself pacing, eagerly awaiting word from the servant. Ulfric told me to relax, to come and sit by the fire with him. He even offered to read me some of the tales from his new book. I relented, but as soon as I sat down, there was a knock on the door, and I couldn’t resist springing right back to my feet.

I hurried to the door, opening it. A different servant was waiting there; she bowed before meeting my eyes.

“The two people you were asking after, my lord. I’ve been assigned to look after the rooms in that hallway; I can take you there.”

Excited, I turned to call out to Ulfric and tell him that I would be back soon, but to my surprise he was already standing right behind me.

“You will accompany him,” he said to the soldier who was standing at attention just outside our door. “You will stand outside the room and wait while he is inside, then return with him here afterward.”

“Yes, my king,” said the soldier, saluting.

“I won’t be long,” I said, lifting up to kiss his jaw, which I knew would embarrass him in front of the servant and soldier, but less so than if I’d kissed him on the mouth. “I just want to say ‘hello’!”

“Mm,” came the typically noncommittal reply. “On your head be his safety,” he said, his blue eyes spearing the soldier.

“Y-Yes, my lord,” said the poor man again, saluting a second time.

The servant led us down quite a few hallways; so far as I could tell, the Winterhold contingent were being housed on almost the opposite end of the castle. Once outside their door, I asked the servant to go in first and make sure they were ready to receive a visitor; she did so, returning only a few seconds later and saying they were still dressed and happy to receive me.

I eagerly entered the room, unable to wipe the grin from my face when both my friends looked up from what they were doing—Eleanor kneeling on the floor before her trunk, unpacking, and Brelyna sitting on the bed, pulling her hair free from its little twists.

Her eyes widened when she saw me, her mouth falling open.

“Casien!!” she cried.

I laughed, not at all surprised when she leapt off that bed and hurried towards me, engulfing me in one of her fierce hugs. I happily hugged her back. What _did_ surprise me was Eleanor coming forward and doing the same thing; she and I were neither of us huggers, but apparently being separated for nearly a year can make a person set aside their principles on the matter.

“How are you?” asked Eleanor, beaming at me. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon!!”

“We have so much news to catch you up on!” said Brelyna, also beaming up at me.

I looked at them both and took a deep breath—it felt so good to see their cheerful, beloved faces. But the shadow of the situation with the potential assassins still hung over me, and I knew I had to tell them.

“I have a lot to tell you both, too,” I said.


	9. Chapter 9

“Assassins!” said Brelyna. “It’s like… It’s like something from a novel!!”

Her eyes were wide, her pretty face a paler-than-usual greenish gray. Beside her, Eleanor looked equally disturbed, her own eyes slightly widened and her lips pressing into a thin line.

We were all sitting on the large bed—the only one in the room, as I suppose Dragonsreach was being stretched to its limits though I doubted either of my friends objected to having to share. The room itself was quite small, far smaller than the one that had been assigned to Ulfric, but smaller even than Galmar’s. But it was comfortable and warm, and despite the dire nature of our conversation, I couldn’t help feeling happy about all being together again.

“But you said it sounded as if they were having second thoughts,” said Eleanor. “Since nothing’s happened, maybe they’ve changed their minds.”

“Only one of them was having second thoughts,” I said. “And it’s only been 24 hours.”

Brelyna looked at me, blinking. “Should you… should you even be here? I mean, is it safe?”

I couldn’t help the little laugh that slipped out. “You’re as bad as Ulfric and Galmar. I seriously doubt _I’m_ a target for assassination. Nobody even knows who I am.” I shrugged. “And when they _do_ realize who I am, I’m little more than a former Dunmer servant to them.”

“Casien, don’t be stupid,” said Eleanor. “I’m a Breton librarian, and Brelyna’s a Dunmer mage. That _isn’t_ why no one wants to stick a knife in our backs. It’s because neither of us is engaged to the next High King of Skyrim.”

There was a part of me that had forgotten this trait of hers: of saying exactly what she thought. Normally, I appreciated it.

Now, I felt like a fool.

“Oh,” I said, looking down at the bed coverings and hoping the somewhat dim lighting would hide my reddened face. “I hadn’t really thought of it like that.”

“You matter to him,” said Brelyna, and I watched as her small hand came to rest comfortingly on my knee. “That means you’re important. Even to people like that.”

“ _Especially_ to people like that,” said Eleanor. “Killing you would upset the balance of the entire moot. That king of yours would go mad with grief, and he’d take that grief out on all his political enemies. It could even start another civil war.”

I shook my head, disbelieving. “But who would _want_ that? The war was awful! No one really _wanted_ to go to war. And there was so much death, and heartache, and loss!”

“Onmund lost an uncle to it,” said Brelyna. “Gerod told us about it.”

“Gerod—is that one of the new apprentices?”

She nodded.

Poor Onmund. I wondered if he even knew. Perhaps he and his uncle hadn’t been close, for he had never mentioned having a family member involved in the war. It struck me that I couldn’t even guess which side the uncle would have fought for.

I shook my head again, scowling.

“The war was _awful_ ,” I repeated. “No one in their right mind would want to start another.”

“And an assassin is someone in their ‘right mind’?” asked Eleanor, raising a brow at me.

I had to relent. She was right, and what’s worse, I’d known it the second she’d made her point. I just didn’t want to admit it. I liked being unimportant—this was a part of me that hadn’t changed since I was a boy, and being engaged to a king had only caused me to shut my eyes and ignore the inevitable: in the eyes of many people, I had become important.

I sighed.

“Let’s talk about something else,” I said. “Tell me about the college. You said you had news?”

They did, and though most of it was little more than the usual run-of-the-mill gossip, I was still keen to hear it. It distracted me from the looming discomfort of our previous discussion, and besides, I _missed_ the college. I missed waking up to the low sound of the bell each morning, of meeting each of my friends for breakfast, of sitting in class and listening to my professors. My mind had been constantly expanding, and my skills tested on an almost daily basis. Castle life was very dull in comparison, though I managed my own studies well enough, and I had my tutors, of course, so I hadn’t completely given up on my training.

And I wasn’t unhappy in Windhelm. In fact, I had never _been_ happier. But I missed the college just the same.

“How are you tutors?” asked Eleanor, as if she could read the thoughts right on my face. “And how is Windhelm? Is it better? Did your king fulfill all of his promises to you?”

I rolled my eyes. “You ask that like you expect me to say no.”

“Ulfric Stormcloak has a reputation, that’s all. And so does Windhelm.”

Windhelm’s reputation I could guess at—didn’t _have_ to guess at, for the others had all but told me their thoughts on that city when they’d learned I had lived there for three years. And, truthfully, they hadn’t been entirely wrong.

But as for Windhelm’s jarl…

“What _do_ they say about him?” I asked, though I was only half sure I really wanted to know.

Eleanor and Brelyna exchanged a look. Which I suppose right there was enough to tell me that what they had to say wasn’t good.

Brelyna picked awkwardly at a string on the bed coverings. “Well, that he’s…”

“That he’s a bigot,” said Eleanor, “That he hates all elves, that he started the war to soothe his own ego. I know he isn’t as bad as all that since I know you, and I know you wouldn’t have fallen in love with a total sociopath. But _some_ of it has to be true.”

I was silent for a long time, mulling over her words. They’d been brutal and to the point, and they made the bile churn in my stomach, for I knew that at heart they were absolutely not true. But my lover was not without fault, and Windhelm—and the state it had fallen into—was proof of that.

“He’s not a bigot,” I said quietly. “And he doesn’t hate elves. I promise.”

“We know,” said Brelyna, sounding apologetic.

They were both silent, waiting for me to continue.

“He didn’t want to go to war. He put it off for years. The things that were happening…” I shook my head, remembering. “And he didn’t even tell me the worst of it.”

“Hanna’s told me some of it,” said Eleanor.

I nodded.

“Things were bad. I don’t know if it’s true that he didn’t have a choice, but I think _he_ felt he had no choice. But…”

I hesitated to admit my own thoughts, for I didn’t want them to think _so_ badly of him, after all. But I didn’t want to lie, either, and besides… these were thoughts I’d been harboring for some time now, and I think I needed to actually say them aloud.

“But Nords are warriors,” I continued, after taking a breath. “I’ve learned that much about them. They earn their honor and their place in Sovngarde through battle. I just… I don’t know. I don’t think it took _that_ much to convince him that war was necessary.”

“Considering those who criticize him most are Nords themselves, I’d hardly say that’s much of a blight on his reputation. And for what it’s worth, he was right about King Torygg. I mean, I’m not saying I agree with what he did, but ancient Nord tradition dictates that if the strength of the High King or Queen is in question, they should be challenged for the throne. It was their way of making certain Skyrim remained strong and forever ready to face her enemies.”

“Did you know Elisif proposed marriage?” I blurted out before I could stop myself. My face burned hot, though I wasn’t sure why. I knew the contents of that letter had nothing whatsoever to do with love or affection. “She didn’t want to go to war. She’s a Nord, too, isn’t she? And she was ready to marry her husband’s killer just to stop it.”

We were all silent for a while, and I could almost taste the awkwardness in the air. It was an awkwardness of my own making, too, which somehow made it worse.

“Have you talked to him about any of this?” asked Eleanor, her voice unusually gentle. “It seems like maybe you should.”

I shook my head. “He doesn’t like to talk about it—the war, and the things he did, or felt he had to do. Part of it is to spare me, I know, but part of it is because… I don’t think it sits well with him. It’s… look, I know this is going to sound stupid, but it’s _hard_ being king. I hadn’t ever really thought about it until I met him, but he always has this heavy weight hanging over him, like he’s constantly weighing and thinking over a thousand different things, and dealing with a thousand different people who each want something different from him. But he’s just one person, and it has to be hard. It _has_ to be.”

I thought of how tired he often looked at the end of the day, how he so disliked dealing with politicians and merchants and others who did everything in their power to get as much out of him as they could. I knew that Skyrim and her people were always at the forefront of his mind—I believed him when he told me as much; I could see the passion burning in his eyes and rumbling through his voice when he spoke about his duty towards his people, how he would sacrifice anything to protect them.

“I don’t care what the rumors say,” I said, my voice suddenly hard. “He’s a good man. He’s not perfect, and he doesn’t always do the right thing. But he’s a good man, and a good king.”

I looked up, meeting Eleanor’s eyes.

“And yes, he _has_ fulfilled some of his promises to me. Not all of them, because stuff like that takes time, and _money_ , which Windhelm has precious little of at present. And you can call me a Stormcloak apologist or whatever, I don’t care, but the point is, we’re _trying_. We really are.”

Both my friends were silent, staring at me with surprised looks on their faces.

“Casien,” said Brelyna finally, her voice actually trembling a little. “We didn’t mean to…”

“No,” said Eleanor quickly, “It was my fault. I shouldn’t have pushed you about it. About him. I…” She bit her lip, and I suddenly felt bad for her, and terrible about my outburst. “I was just worried about you. I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” I said quickly. “I mean, minus the threat of assassination, and… wow, these dinners we have to go to every night are the absolute worst. But other than that…” I shrugged, and felt a small smile blooming onto my face. “I’m really okay.”

She smiled back. “Good. So… tell us about some of the things you’ve done! Some of the improvements you and your king have made in Windhelm.”

So I told them about the Dunmer Business Leaders Association, both of them laughing at the name, and at the fact that I, a 20-year-old former servant and mage apprentice, was the head of said association. I laughed with them, and assured them I wasn’t so much the head as the liaison between them and the king, who did indeed take the Association very seriously. I told them sheepishly about the fight we had had, and how I had realized he’d been working on the Association’s goals all day. They were certain this was mostly to please me, which made me roll my eyes and snort, but I didn’t think they were wrong. I did assure them that the idea had been hatched between the two of us, and that it had his full support. They acknowledged that this was a mark in his favor. Eleanor suggested expanding it to include the Argonians, or perhaps setting up a different Association altogether for them. I had to admit, it wasn’t a bad idea.

“What about your mage schools?” she asked. “You said Professor Aren had given the idea his blessing.”

“Yes, then maybe I could come and stay in Windhelm sometimes!” said Brelyna excitedly. “One day I could even become one of the teachers!”

I smiled at the thought, but had to admit: “We haven’t really discussed it since then. I think he has a lot on his plate at present with the moot, and honestly… so do I. I wouldn’t want to split my efforts between the Dunmer, maybe the Argonians, and the mage school idea. Maybe once we’ve made significant progress with the Association I can start working on other things.”

“Do people in Windhelm know you’re a mage?” ask Eleanor.

I shrugged. “Some do. Everyone in the castle does, and guests usually learn about it if they don’t already know.”

“And they don’t mind?”

“I think it’s more like… some of them don’t mind, and some of them have just accepted it. No one’s going to tell Ulfric Stormcloak he can’t marry a mage if that’s what he wants to do. And I think… I don’t know. Things have changed. A year ago, it would have been dangerous to reveal who and what I was. But now that the war is over, it’s different.”

“It’s that king of yours. His rule is all but uncontested now. It’s like you said: no one’s going to tell Ulfric Stormcloak he can’t marry a mage.”

“And now that people know you and see you, magic probably isn’t so scary to them anymore!” said Brelyna, and I had to acknowledge this might actually be true.

We chatted for a little longer, mostly about their journey here and how it compared to my own. It had rained a great deal for them, and they had been fairly miserable. Jarl Korir was a superstitious, bigoted man who cursed mages and elves in the same breath—small wonder they had felt some concern for me, for wasn’t it reasonable to assume the man Korir pledged fervent allegiance to might hold the same views? Brelyna in particular had done her best to stay out of his sight, though luckily many of the soldiers traveling with them had been more tolerant and even occasionally kind—and Hanna had been with them, of course.

I asked about her, and was unsurprised to learn that she was bunking in the barracks with the other traveling soldiers. It was a bit of a disappointment, not to get to see her tonight, but there was always tomorrow.

Eventually, it was creeping near half-past ten, at least according to the little enchanted time-teller Brelyna had brought with her. We decided to call it a night—they were weary from traveling, after all, and this was already awfully late for me—and agreed to meet again sometime tomorrow, though I couldn’t say precisely when, for I didn’t know if I would have any ‘spousal duties,’ as Una liked to call them, to attend to.

Outside, the guard waiting for me straightened to attention.

“Sorry,” I said, wincing, for it now occurred to me that the whole time I’d been sitting with my friends chatting, he’d had to stand out here alone.

He blinked at me. “For what?”

“For making you stand out here for the past hour or so. At least there’s a chair next to our room.”

“It’s my job,” he said, giving me a queer look, then shrugging as we started walking. “Think nothing of it, m’lord.” Then he seemed to start and realize he ought to add: “And of course it’s my honor to guard the jarl’s intended!”

I sighed and rubbed my hand over my face, the action turning into a yawn. I was too tired to beg him not to call me “my lord,” or to salute when he saw me, or to go on about it being his ‘honor’ to do anything for me whatsoever.

Back in our rooms, Ulfric had fallen asleep in the chair by the fire, the book of Breton folktales open on his lap. I tutted under my breath, for he needn’t have waited up for me (or tried to, apparently), but I couldn’t help smiling at the endearing sight.

I eased myself onto one arm of the chair, leaning gently against him as I murmured into his ear, “You should be in bed, my lord.”

He gave a soft snort, his eyes fluttering open. He saw me then and sighed, bringing a hand up to cover the yawn that then stretched over his mouth.

“And how are Eleanor and Brelyna?” he asked, pulling me into his lap—which I allowed, even though it made me roll my eyes and smile every time he did it.

“You’re trying to impress me by showing me you remember their names,” I teased.

“Mm. Perhaps I am always trying to impress you, in some way or another. And am I not successful?”

I laughed, his sleepy confession tickling at my heart.

“They were worried about me,” I said, leaning against his chest and closing my eyes temporarily. “They wanted to know if I was happy, living in Windhelm… and with you.”

“And are you?”

The question took me by surprise.

“Of course I am!” I said, sitting back and staring at him. I was almost angry, for how could he even imagine that I _wasn’t_ happy to be with him?

He didn’t immediately respond, instead meeting my gaze with his own, his expression turning thoughtful.

“There is something else,” he said. “I can see it in your eyes. Your thoughts disturb you.”

My heart beat a little faster and I looked down at my lap, swallowing. No, I couldn’t bring up everything I had said to my two friends, not about what Eleanor had said, and my staunch defense of him, which, now that I looked back on it, had been rather embarrassing.

But I should probably ease his mind on at least one matter—and simultaneously admit defeat.

“It’s about the assassins,” I said, my throat closing slightly at the thought. I felt his arms tighten, probably instinctively, around me. I shook my head, frowning. “I don’t mean I’m afraid of them or anything—I mean, I am, as much as any of us is. But I just…” I met his eyes guiltily. “I get it now. Why you’re so worried about me. And I promise I won’t put myself in danger. Maybe I still feel like nobody _to me_. But I get that not everyone sees me that way. And that… well, people could hurt _you_ by hurting _me_. So I’m not going to let them.”

Again, he was silent for a moment, then:

“I am glad to hear it. But one day you will see that you are more than no one. Not only because you have the heart of a king. You are _someone_ , and it is on your own merit. No one else’s.”

I smiled, helpless in the face of such kindness, and buried my face in his neck, hugging him.

“I wish you wouldn’t say things like that,” I said, my voice muffled against his warm skin.

“I’m afraid I find the effect far too pleasing to ever stop,” he said, and I groaned and gave his chest a light slap with my hand.

I felt him shifting beneath me, preparing to stand, so before he could attempt to gather me into his arms I quickly slid off his lap and onto my feet.

I smirked, reaching for his hand and gently pulling him up with me.

“I won’t have you throwing out your back on _my_ account, not right before the moot. Imagine how un-kingly you’d look, limping and stooping about.”

His eyes narrowed down at me. We were standing very close, and there was always something intimidating about his size and height. Of course, now that we were together, that intimidation quickly turned to a skittish sort of anticipation.

Before I knew it, he’d scooped an arm under my bottom and lifted me up, squawking, tossing me over his shoulder.

“By the Three!” I cried, gripping the back of his tunic with my fists and feeling my whole face go red, for it was such an embarrassing position! “Put me down, you big oaf!”

“As my lord commands,” he said, tossing me down onto the bed, for he’d crossed the room in a few long strides. He folded his arms over his chest and smiled down at me. I propped myself up on my elbows and glared back.

“That wasn’t funny,” I said.

“I beg to differ,” he said, leaning down to chase away my scowl with a kiss. And it worked, of course. I was soon pulling him further down against me, my eager hands tugging at his clothing.

Afterward, lying pressed against him in the darkness and under the sheets—an abrupt thought came to me, causing my still unsteady breath to catch in my throat.

“What?” he asked sleepily, no doubt feeling the sudden tension in my body.

“You were asleep,” I said. “You didn’t even hear me come in. Anyone could have—

“There are locks on the windows,” he said. “We have double-checked them all. And I have seen how the roof slants above this room; I believe Galmar highly overestimates how simple it would be to enter that way. As for the guards, granted, I sent the one at our door with you, but the one at the end of the hall remained. The only way to make this place more secure would be to post a guard inside the room.” He gave my spent body a playful squeeze. “And I do not think you would appreciate that.”

“Oh, so now you’re a _funny_ king,” I mumbled, and he chuckled, but I confess his reassurances did soothe me. I drifted off to sleep soon afterward, hoping, in no small degree, that Eleanor and Brelyna had guessed right—and the assassins had simply changed their minds altogether.


	10. Chapter 10

“So let me get this straight,” I said. “Even though we sat together for dinner yesterday, we can’t sit together again tonight.”

“Correct,” came the absent-minded reply.

I made a face and stirred my porridge idly with my wooden spoon. I’m sure I had quite the sulky expression on my face, but someone was too busy reading his mail—apparently, even when away from home, a jarl receives more mail each morning than is otherwise thought feasibly possible—to notice. I stuck my tongue out at him, the side of my face resting on my free hand.

“Very mature,” he said, without looking up from the note he was reading.

I rolled my eyes and stirred the porridge a bit more, making a face at my food now. They used wooden cutlery here at Dragonsreach, which was so odd to me, as I was used to cast iron or steel. It was lighter and easier to handle, but it made me wonder if it could ever be fully cleaned. My friends liked to mock me for my obsession with cleanliness, but who can stomach breakfast while simultaneously wondering if the dark spot on one’s spoon is merely a stain or a holdover from yesterday’s breakfast?

“So is that Galmar’s decision or yours?” I asked, knowing full well I was purposefully needling him.

“It is both our decisions. We have discussed it. Tonight I will eat with Ania. It is important for—

“For the people of Skyrim to see the next jarl of Windhelm,” I finished, rolling my eyes again. “I know, I know.”

“If you ‘know,’ then why do you ask.”

I shrugged but didn’t deign to answer.

Just then, there was a tentative knock at the door. Relieved to have something to do, I jumped to my feet.

“Casien,” said the king, looking up sharply.

I paused, my hand hovering over the door handle, for I’d already sprinted across the room. I snorted.

“Assassins don’t knock,” I said.

He gave me a look before shaking his head, his eyes refocusing on his letter.

I swung open the door, grinning at the cheerful, albeit nervous, faces that greeted me.

“Good morning!” said Brelyna.

Her hair was back in its neat little buns, and she looked refreshed and bright-eyed after her long journey. Beside her, Eleanor was beaming almost as much, and behind both of them, significantly taller than the other two, so I could clearly see her smirking down at me, was...

“Hanna!” I cried, and that smirk burst into a grin, light-blue eyes dancing with pleasure.

“What are we,” grumped Eleanor, “chopped liver?”

I laughed. “I already saw you guys last night!” I stepped aside, gesturing for them to enter.

“Oh...” said Brelyna, suddenly looking nervous again. “Is that... okay?”

But Eleanor just huffed under her breath. “Come on,” she said, grabbing Brelyna’s hand and pulling her inside. “We’re Casien’s friends; he invited us in, so we have just as much right to be here as anyone else.”

I arched an eyebrow at Hanna as she trailed behind them. “I see you like them forceful,” I muttered.

She gave me a good-natured smack upside the head.

I grinned, shutting the door with one hand while rubbing my head with the other.

The king glanced up from his notes to eye the new arrivals, Brelyna coming to a skidding stop when she saw him, Eleanor bouncing somewhat against her. Hanna immediately stood to attention and saluted, bowing her head slightly and murmuring, ‘my lord.’ He nodded back, acknowledging the salute.

“Um,” I said, suddenly feeling awkward, “Well, you guys have technically met before, but you might not remember them.”

“Of course I remember them,” he said.

Then he startled me by getting to his feet and actually coming towards my three friends. I thought Brelyna was going to melt into the carpet, and even Eleanor looked nervous. Hanna only straightened her shoulders even more, though I caught her glancing at the other two and smiling ever so slightly.

“Brelyna Maryon, of House Telvanni,” said the king, offering her his hand, which she nervously took, watching with wide eyes as he shook it gently.

“And Eleanor Tyrane,” he said, turning to my other friend. Eleanor’s handshake was more firm, and I could tell she was doing it on purpose—overcompensating for being nervous at shaking a jarl’s—no, a High King’s—hand.

“Y-Yes, my lord,” she said, and when Hanna’s eyes met mine, it was all I could do to keep from bursting out laughing.

“And Scout Hanna,” he said, meeting Hanna’s eyes. “Or I suppose I should say, former Scout Hanna.”

“Please do _not_ mention the wolves,” I said, giving him a sideways glare.

 “Wolves?” said Hanna, glancing at me with a frown.

The king gave me a look, but then seemed to think better of whatever it was he had been about to say.

“It is an honor to meet Casien’s friends again,” he said instead, returning to my friends. “He is very fond of you, speaks of you often, and chastises me when I do not listen.”

“Did you have to add that last part?” I asked, groaning.

Brelyna and Eleanor were giggling and exchanging looks; meanwhile, Hanna was giving me the fondest smile, and I hoped my cheeks weren’t as warm as they felt. I had been prepared for my lover to be grumpy and dismissive—not charming and gracious like some prince in a fairy story.

“Perhaps you might show your friends around the castle,” said the king, and I could take a hint. The pile of letters on his desk wasn’t getting any lighter with us all standing about, distracting him from his duties.

“Come on,” I said, grabbing both Eleanor and Brelyna and pulling them away. “The king has work to do. We’re disturbing him.”

“That isn’t quite what I said,” he called after me, but luckily he didn’t sound annoyed, and I knew he was genuinely relieved to have the room to himself—well, not that he was pleased that I was leaving, but he needed to concentrate. I imagine quite a few of those letters were requests for meetings, discussions about the moot, about the future rulers of Skyrim, and so on. Sometimes I offered to help him pen his replies, but he was actually quite good at it, though he wasn’t above having me read a final draft or two to check for any errors he might have missed.

As I paused in the sitting room to pull on my boots, cloak, and sword belt, I realized that only Brelyna and Eleanor had followed me; Hanna was nowhere to be seen—she had evidently hung back with the king.

Once we were outside in the hallway, she finally rejoined us.

“Let me guess,” I said, sighing when our eyes met. “He told you to stick to me like glue and guard me with your life or else.”

She smiled. “Actually, he said he had no authority to issue me orders since I was no longer under his command, but he asked that I look after you just the same, and make sure that you returned here safely afterward. I assured him that I would.”

“ _Don’t_ give us that gloomy face,” said Eleanor, putting her hands on her hips. “I thought we talked about this last night. He’s right to be so cautious, and you _know_ he’s right.”

“I know, I know,” I said, holding up my hands. “I’ve officially realized what an ass I’ve been about this. That doesn’t make it any easier to be treated like some priceless and delicate piece of Dwemer pottery.”

Hanna snorted, and the other two couldn’t seem to help giggling at my silly comparison. Pretty soon I was smiling, too, and rolling my eyes at myself to boot. Not for the first time was I grateful for having friends who put up with my ridiculousness.

“All right,” I said, leading the way down the hallway. “Where to first?”

“There’s supposed to be a _huge_ library in Dragonsreach,” said Eleanor. “I’d love to see it.”

“And I want to see Whiterun!” said Brelyna. “I’ve never been! I mean, I know I’m here now, but I mean I’ve never been to the city itself!”

“What about you?” I asked, turning to Hanna, who feigned surprise, even pointing at her chest.

“Me? I thought I was just the bodyguard.”

“Ha, ha,” I said. “By the way, are you sure you and Eleanor are actually dating? You guys barely even look at each other.”

“They’re _definitely_ dating,” piped up Brelyna. “Hanna’s all Eleanor talks about sometimes!”

“Aw,” said Hanna, grinning down at her blushing girlfriend.

“Shut up!” snapped Eleanor. “Let’s just decide what we want to do and do it, and why are you holding my hand?!”

For Hanna had silently taken her hand in hers, the grin on her face causing her eyes to crinkle now as Eleanor proceeded to turn so red I was half-concerned she was going to make herself ill.

“Well, the clouds looked pretty heavy this morning,” I said, tactfully ignoring the scene before me, as Eleanor snatched her hand away and Hanna leaned in and made a playful kissing face. “So it’s probably a good idea we explore the city first before it starts raining.”

“Good idea,” said Brelyna, and she and I led the way, both of us studiously not looking behind us, for I thought with a little grin, perhaps Eleanor might let Hanna hold her hand if no one else were watching.

Whiterun was indeed gloomier than it had been the previous day, the heavy clouds blocking out the sun promising rain, and lots of it, sooner rather than later. But the gloom didn’t dampen our spirits as I showed my friends around. I was careful to keep my own hood up as we made our way through the city, for without Olfina and Jon’s support, the citizens of Whiterun would feel free to discriminate against me again. I had no desire to get into a standoff with a shopkeeper while my friends watched on in dismay, and I wasn’t sure Hanna’s temper could handle such a display, either. Of course they wanted to know why I was wandering about with my hood pulled up, but I just told them the lack of sun in the sky made the air a bit chilly for me, an explanation which they readily accepted considering my well-known lack of tolerance for the cold.

We visited the book shop, where I embarrassed both Eleanor and Brelyna by purchasing them each a book since they didn’t have the coin for it themselves. I suppose it wasn’t technically _my_ money, either, but I had been given a set amount of septums to spend on the trip, as had Ania, Hellina, and Una. In the past this might have made me feel embarrassed or unworthy, but now it only strengthened my resolve to be as useful to the people of Windhelm as much as possible. As I’d told my friends last night, I had more in mind than simply starting the Dunmer Business Leaders Association, and there was quite a bit I intended to accomplish—not just for my own people, but for all the people of the city I now called home.

We visited the theatre, which stood empty at present, the circular stone steps reminding me of some of the classrooms back at the college. I tried to imagine what it would feel like, to sit in the audience and see some of the stories I’d read come to life on the stage.

“It looks like we just missed the last performance,” said Eleanor, reading the little plaque at the theatre’s entrance.

“‘The 21st of Rain’s Day’,” I said, reading alongside her. “That was only a few days ago.”

“There’s to be another for Second Planting!” said Brelyna. “Ohh, they’re going to perform _Fjori and Holgeir_. I don’t think I know that one!”

“It’s a love story,” I said, smiling before I could stop myself. “One of my favorites. Rather tragic… They must have expanded it beyond the original folktale.”

“Maybe we could see it,” put in Hanna. “Second Planting is only a few days from now.”

The other two agreed, but I remained silent. I felt there was little chance that I would be able to get away for an evening of frivolity and levity with my friends during the moot. And during a huge holiday like Second Planting? The streets would be packed, the crowds the thickest they’d been all year. The king most certainly wouldn’t allow it, not unless he agreed to stand as my personal bodyguard—which could only happen in my wildest and happiest of dreams.

“What’s wrong?” asked Eleanor, as we sat down to lunch an hour or so later.

“Nothing,” I said, for I’d been unable to shake the gloomy thoughts which had settled over me.

I’d also finally pushed the hood of my cloak back so I could eat my lunch comfortably. I noticed a woman with dark red hair gazing at me from across the square and started, for it was the same woman I’d caught staring at me yesterday. She turned away as soon as she noticed me looking, just as she had the first time.

“Casien,” said Eleanor, her voice a warning.

I looked back at her and sighed.

“Really,” I said, “It’s nothing. It’s just that… I don’t know. I sort of realized I’ve never really… well…” I could feel my voice closing in, getting a bit smaller, the heat rising ever so slightly to my face. “…been on a date.”

“Jarls don’t take their favorite elves out on dates, then,” said Hanna, grinning when I looked up. I remembered how she and Ysme had joked about me being Ulfric’s ‘favorite elf,’ and couldn’t help smiling back.

“No,” I said. “I guess not.”

“Not a lot of time for it, I would imagine,” said Eleanor, absently licking the sweet roll frosting from her fingers.

“Not a lot of time for much of anything,” I admitted. “The only time we’re alone is at night and in the morning. At night he’s tired from his day, and in the morning, he always has some appointment he has to hurry off to. I guess we do have lunch sometimes. But even then he’s usually working through it.”

“There are worse things in life than being engaged to a jarl,” said Hanna wryly. “Even if it means you don’t get to go on dates.”

“Yes,” said Brelyna, sighing in a way that made us all try to hide our grins. “You get to wear such beautiful clothing, and purchase all the books you like, and kiss a handsome older man! And I shouldn’t mind being consort to a king some day!”

I couldn’t help it; I laughed.

“I guess being married to a king probably won’t be so bad,” I agreed. “Though it’s a little weird sometimes. People who used to turn their noses up at me are suddenly bowing at me and calling me ‘my lord.’ Honestly, the hypocrisy of it all makes me a little sick.”

“Just remember who your friends are,” said Eleanor primly. “And rest assured: we’ll _never_ bow or call you ‘my lord,’ no matter how fancy your clothes are.”

“Thanks,” I said, laughing, and the other two joined in.

When thunder finally began to rumble overhead, we decided to finally hurry back to Dragonsreach. Even so, the skies still managed to open up over us while we were halfway up the path. We took off running, shrieking in mock consternation as we squelched past the guards in our wet boots.

I threw off my cloak once we were indoors, the garment soaking wet by now, but thanks to its protection, I was the most dry out of all my friends. Eleanor and Hanna were smiling and laughing at one another as they squeezed the water from their hair, and Brelyna made a face as she rolled her soaking-wet sleeves up.

“Do you guys want to return to your room so you can change?” I suggested.

“My stuff’s all in the barracks,” said Hanna. “I’ll drop you all off first, then head down there and back up.”

It felt silly and excessive, but I acquiesced without question, knowing she would not back down on her promise to the jarl. And the caution was merited, though no one seemed to remember that I was a fully-trained mage, as was Brelyna, for all we were merely apprentices. I imagined even an assassin would have difficulty defending a fireball to the face. Nevertheless, I dutifully allowed my friend to escort us back up to the girls’ room, where I waited while they changed in the wash room.

Once Hanna returned, we set about looking for the library. A helpful servant soon had us heading in the right direction. When we reached it, I was pleased to see that it had lived up to my expectations, as it was nearly twice the size of the Palace of the Kings’ library—though, in fairness, the jarl’s own library was unusually extensive.

“This is incredible!” said Eleanor, gazing all around her, mouth still half-open in awe. The bookshelves ran from floor to ceiling, and the room itself was immense, at least three times the size of the rooms which had been assigned to the king and myself.

“Looking for anything in particular?” I asked, knowing full well what the answer would be. As if on cue, she pulled a little slip of parchment from the satchel at her side, and soon we had all been assigned several titles to search for, Hanna muttering under her breath.

“Is this her idea of a date?” I teased, keeping my voice low.

“This is why I’m the one who plans our evenings out,” she grumbled in response.

I chuckled and resumed my search. Eleanor’s list was interesting, and I could fully see how she needed most of the titles listed there. Some were to help with translation of texts back at the college; others were lost, hand-written histories that wouldn’t have been allowed to leave the jarl’s castle. When not busy with her task of recording the events of the moot, I imagined she would be spending a lot of time here, copying and making notes.

“Casien…!”

Brelyna’s slightly shrill cry made me stop in my tracks, tucking the one book I’d found under my arm before immediately hurrying towards her.

“What?” I asked, but even before the word left my lips, I had an inkling as to what had startled her.

“Do you feel that?” she asked.

Her eyes were focused on one of the bottom shelves, and indeed, I _could_ feel something: a dark, pulsating force. It pricked at the outer edges of my awareness, lulling me forward, even as something inside me recoiled on instinct. I felt my eyes being drawn down and focused towards the spine of one book; the words printed there were unknown to me, and yet I could almost feel them whispering to me, urging me to reach down and pick the book up.

So I did.

The leather was warm, and the tome itself was heavy, so heavy I had to hold it with both hands. I gazed down at the cover, but there were no words. Only black, heavy leather, and soft, gentle voices whispering from between each page, making my fingertips tingle.

“ _CASIEN!!_ ”

Eleanor’s voice shocked me out of my trance. Beside me, I saw Brelyna start as well; our eyes met; hers were wide and filled with shock—mimicking my own, I imagine.

“Casien,” said Eleanor’s voice again. I looked over my shoulder at her. “Put that down.”

“Why?” I asked.

I could see Hanna approaching from behind, her hand resting on her sword hilt, though it was clear she had no idea what was going on and was only reacting to the fear and tension in Eleanor’s voice.

Eleanor swallowed. “I think—that’s a Black Book. Whatever you do, _don’t_ open it.”

It took a moment for my brain to escape the fog the book seemed to have lain over it. Then I gaped.

“A _Black Book_??” I gazed back down at the tome in my hands. “Are you sure?”

“What’s a black book?” asked Hanna, her expression still guarded. “Are black books evil or something?

Eleanor shook her head, her brown hair swishing about her shoulders.

“Not just a black book, a _Black Book_.” She shuddered visibly. “They’re gateways to the Apocrypha, the realm of Hermaeus Mora.”

“Who?” asked Hanna.

“Hermaeus Mora,” repeated Brelyna, biting her lip. “A daedric prince, not one of the Nine, but an old god, like…” she glanced at me. “…like Azura.”

“Oh,” said Hanna. “Er, sorry. Religion’s not really my thing.”

“Hermaeus Mora isn’t one of the Three,” I said, “Our people don’t worship him.”

Brelyna nodded. “I don’t know much about him. I’ve never even seen one of his temples.”

“He’s an older god,” said Eleanor, “In more ways than one. The Nords used to follow him, or at least some of them, actually. He’s the god of knowledge.”

“Eleanor,” I said, giving her a look, for she still looked pretty freaked out. “Come on. Yes, Brelyna and I can both tell the book has some kind of spell on it. But a daedric god? The Apocrypha?”

“Fine,” she said, clearly grinding the word through her teeth. “But that book is dangerous. Even _I_ can tell.”

“Just looks like a book to me,” said Hanna, and she had clearly relaxed, her hand no longer resting on her sword.

“Watch,” I said, trying not to roll my eyes. “I’ll show you it’s just a book.”

“No!!” cried Eleanor, “Don’t!!”

But I ignored her, convinced she was overreacting, and I still wasn’t one to put much stock in the omnipresence of gods and goddesses, benevolent or otherwise. I shared a tiny smile with Brelyna, both of us curious about the book’s contents, for we could hear it singing to us, and though the magic felt dark, it didn’t necessarily feel evil to me. I opened the book, flipping randomly to somewhere in the middle.

The page was blank.

Then everything disappeared.

I suddenly felt myself rematerialize—though I hadn’t exactly been aware of _un-_ materializing—my knees giving slightly as I ‘landed’ on the ground. Beside me, Brelyna appeared as well, both of us staring at one another with huge, wide eyes.

“Sweet Azura,” I breathed as we looked all around us, and it became horrifically obvious that we were no longer in the library—or Dragonsreach—or _Skyrim_.

The king was going to _kill_ me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the Skyrim calendar really caused me some headaches here, especially since I'm having to plan ahead and figure out how long future events will take place... anyway, apologies for the future if something I say later contradicts what I've said previously, haha :"D
> 
> Also, yes, things are getting awfully... PLOTTY... now. Luckily I'm finally off work for the next few weeks and can write every day, so expect updates to come a little bit more quickly, yay!


	11. Chapter 11

“Eleanor was right,” said Brelyna, her voice trembling. “This… This isn’t Skyrim.”

It certainly was not. The atmosphere was heavy and oppressive, a twisting, lingering green fog hanging in the air. We seemed to be outside, for I could observe the sky—hideous and belching green smoke as it was—yet all around us rose, of all things, bookshelves, packed to the brim with books. We stood together on a small island of stone, the bookshelves perched on branching pathways, between and around which was a black, sluggish liquid which churned and popped and oozed languidly.

Then beside us, Eleanor and Hanna suddenly appeared.

“Oh, thank the Three AND the Nine!!” cried Brelyna, immediately hugging Eleanor fiercely. I tried not to wince, as Eleanor was aiming a stone-cold glare in my direction.

“You _idiot_!” she snarled, eventually pushing Brelyna gently away. “I _told_ you not to look at it!”

“I’m sorry!” I said, “I honestly didn’t think this would happen! I—I thought the book was just under some sort of spell!”

“What was a book like that even _doing_ in Dragonsreach?” said Hanna, her hand once again gripping her sword hilt as she turned all around, surveying our surroundings.

“It probably belonged to the jarl’s court wizard,” snapped Eleanor. “The staff must have moved it to the general library after the war. It wouldn’t appear out of the ordinary to non-magical folk, or at least those with no knowledge of such things.”

“So what do we do?” wailed Brelyna. “How do we get out? Is it dangerous?”

Eleanor’s answer faded as I seemed to lose focus, my attention drifting from my friends to something just beyond the shifting horizon. It licked at the edges of my senses, breathing questions, whispering promises into my subconscious. _Welcome_ , it murmured, thought and sound coalescing into that one word before steadily saying my name, over and over, as if tasting and savoring it for the first time: _Casien Yedlin… Casien Yedlin… Casien Yedlin…_

I had to resist the urge to close my eyes and squeeze my hands against my temples.

**_YOU SEEK KNOWLEDGE._ **

“Casien!”

I gave a little jerk, the voice trickling from my mind like water through a sieve, and refocused on my friends. Eleanor was looking at me with wide, worried eyes now.

“What happened?” she asked. “You were sort of… not there for a moment.”

“I… heard something,” I said, hoping they didn’t all think me out of my mind. “A voice. Only not a real voice; it was more like…” I shook my head. “I don’t know.”

“Hermaeus Mora,” breathed Brelyna, visibly trembling now. Eleanor and Hanna both put a hand on her shoulders and exchanged a look.

“I seriously dou—” But I paused, catching another fierce glare from Eleanor. “…Maybe,” I agreed weakly, though surely she couldn’t possibly be right.

“Whatever he’s saying, ignore it,” said Eleanor. “You can’t trust him. He’ll promise you things, anything you want to know. But _don’t_ listen to him.”

“All right,” I said, still doubtful that the voice belonged to a god, but I didn’t have to be told twice not to trust a creepy, disembodied voice in my head.

We were all silent for a moment, as we swallowed our nervousness and looked around us, surveying our surroundings. Was this _really_ the Apocrypha—the realm of Hermaeus Mora? It reminded me of traveling through Azura’s Star; the very air felt different, as if my lungs were breathing in something entirely new. It occurred to me, then, that Eleanor and Hanna had come here on their own free will, even after seeing what had happened to Brelyna and me. I felt abruptly humbled by their courage—and ashamed, for I was the reason all three of my friends were now potentially in danger.

“…Is this like the Star?” asked Brelyna, unconsciously mimicking my thoughts. “Are our bodies still back in the library?”

Hanna gave her a quizzical look—I recalled then that she hadn’t been present when I’d gone through the Star—but Eleanor shook her head.

“No, we’re definitely, really here. You two sort of… _shimmered_ … for a moment before disappearing.”

“So how do we escape?” I asked.

“I was just talking about that before you started zoning out. In theory, there _should_ be another book not far from here. All we have to do is find it, ‘read’ it, and we should be returned back to our own realm.”

“And _I_ said, it might take us a while to find the right book,” said Hanna, gazing up and out at the immense bookshelves.

“If it’s another Black Book—or a mirror of the one back in Skyrim—then Brelyna and I should be able to sense it,” I pointed out.

“Then let’s start searching!” said Brelyna. “The sooner we find a way out of here, the better.”

“Wait.”

We all three stopped and looked back at Eleanor, who hadn’t moved. She bit her lip, her eyes meeting mine and then Brelyna’s.

“Just so you know, I’ve read that magic doesn’t really… _work_ right in the Apocrypha. It’s not Nirn, so magicka doesn’t interact with the world in the same way.”

“…Oh,” I said, not exactly sure what to say to that. I still had my sword and dagger strapped to my belt, but it was disconcerting knowing I couldn’t rely on my magic.

“Casien,” said Brelyna, “Try to make your little flame! If you can do it, it’ll be a good sign. It’s always been so easy for you!”

It was a good suggestion, and they all three looked at me expectantly, so I nodded and held up my hand, cupping it, and...

“...Nothing,” I breathed, surprised by the slight tremor in my voice. I clenched my fingers into a fist before opening them again. “I can’t… I mean, there’s just _nothing_.”

I had been able to produce my little flame for as long as I could remember. It was a _part_ of me, a physical manifestation of my relationship with magic. Before I’d known anything about spells or magicka, I’d had this. In Windhelm, it became my dark little secret, but I had never been ashamed of it. And now, to know that it was no longer here… I took a quick, shuddering breath and stared vainly at my shaking fingers.

“It’s okay,” said Eleanor quickly. She moved towards me and placed her hand over mine, her fingers folding over my fist. Our eyes met before I lowered mine, along with my hand.

“Guess you two are just like the rest of us now,” said Hanna, clearly trying to lighten the mood, but I could only smile weakly at her.

Brelyna, if possible, looked even more nervous than before. Without her magic, she was utterly defenseless. I suppose Eleanor put a lot of faith in Hanna’s ability to protect us all, for she didn’t look half as anxious as I felt. But then, she was always good at hiding her true feelings.

She took a breath now, looking all around us before meeting our eyes.

“Let’s split up. Me and Hanna, and you guys together. That way at least one person is armed. And we’ll be able to hunt for the book faster.”

I exchanged a look with Brelyna, and we both nodded.

“Don’t go too far,” warned Hanna. “And whatever you do, don’t separate. The last thing we need is for someone to get lost in here.”

“Okay,” I said, looking over a row of shelves off to my left. “We’ll start over there. And... you guys can take those.” I pointed to another row that branched off to my right.

“Sounds like a plan,” said Hanna, putting a hand on Eleanor’s arm and pulling her firmly along with her.

Brelyna and I didn’t grab hold of one another, but we certainly stayed awfully close as we made our way towards the bookshelves. However, we were only halfway there when a sudden scream had us dashing back towards the other two.

“What’s wrong?” I asked, panting. “What happened?”

“The water,” said Eleanor, her face as white as a sheet. “Or whatever it is. S-Stay away from it. There are _things_ in there.”

Brelyna and I both started as Hanna kicked the remains of what looked like a still-writhing tentacle, the appendage sliding back into the black, bubbling ooze. She then made a face at her sword before reluctantly wiping the slime on the blade against her pants leg and sliding the weapon back into its sheath.

“Noted,” I said, quite certain that my face looked about as ashen as Brelyna’s right now.

We once again separated, though we kept within visual range, and began to inspect the free-standing bookshelves.

We had been worried about not being able to find the right book, literally surrounded as we were by shelves filled with thousands upon thousands of them. Brelyna and I were counting on being able to sense the Black Book, just as we had back at Dragonsreach. But as I approached the nearest bookshelf, pausing to look up and up at the tallest shelf—well, I didn’t just feel _one_ book.

I felt all of them.

They called to me, whispering at the edges of my mind, begging me to pick them up. ‘You seek knowledge’—it wasn’t a question. The voice, whatever it was—it _knew_ me, knew what I most longed for. Before meeting Ulfric, before even coming to Windhelm—even as a child, I had had a lust for learning, for books and the secrets they held between their pages. I was poor and had no means or hope of ever traveling and seeing the world I was so curious about. Books, when I could get my hands on them, contained everything I longed to know more about: history, politics, fiction, religion, culture.

But even books couldn’t tell me everything; they couldn’t really tell me what love would feel like, for example, or grief. They couldn’t tell me why my mother had to die, or why there were people in the world who hated me just because my skin was greener and grayer than theirs and my ears more pointed. They couldn’t tell me why my aunt and uncle had abandoned me, left me to die, really. These were questions I would never receive answers to, no matter how much I read.

“What are you doing?” Brelyna’s voice drifted towards me, as if she were far away, though I knew she was right beside me. “Did you find something?”

I was crouching before the first bookshelf before I even knew what I was doing. My fingers brushed against the spines of the books there; I couldn’t read the language that was written on each one, and sometimes the text or images shifted and changed before my very eyes.

“No,” I murmured, “I just wanted to look at them. Can’t you feel them? Can’t you _hear_ them?”

“I… I don’t hear anything. Casien…”

But I ignored her—not on purpose, not out of rudeness, I just… things were _different_ here. I could feel the books; they _wanted_ me to read them. My hand hovered over the spine of one book before my fingers folded over it and pulled it out. It was a soft, red leather, the pages within yellowed and smelling of mold. The words inked in black over the cover shifted and twisted themselves until coalescing into one word: _Despair._

“Casien,” I heard Brelyna say, and I could hear the tremor in her voice, but I couldn’t seem to care. “Don’t…”

I opened the book.

//

The room was dark.

What little light there was only seemed to illuminate the pieces of ash that hung perpetually in the air. Slow swirls of smoke drifted upward from several burning sticks of incense, placed strategically around the tiny room. The fireplace burned low, and the floor was broken in some places, and covered with dirt.

A woman lay on a small bed. She coughed, and shifted uncomfortably. She reached up to brush a lank piece of dark hair from her eyes.

Another woman entered the room. She came to sit beside the other woman’s bed, resting the tray she’d been carrying on her knees. She measured out a spoonful of medicine and brought it to the sick woman’s lips.

“Imelda,” said the sick woman, after she’d swallowed the tonic. “You have to promise me…”

“None of that,” said the other, and her expression and voice seemed hard, but I knew it was just her way of hiding what she was feeling.

“No,” insisted the sick woman. “You must listen. I’m going to die… we both know it. But you must…” She paused to turn her head and cough, the rattling sound in her chest sounding worse with each painful effort. She swallowed before continuing. “You must promise to take care of Casien. He won’t understand… He won’t accept that I’m gone.”

“Nonsense,” said my aunt, “He’s a clever lad. He’ll be fine.”

“Yes.” She smiled, the pain seeming to leave her features, just for a moment. “He is clever. But this… Imelda, this will break him. You must take care of him, you must love him as if he were your own.”

“Of course we’ll take care of him. But you needn’t worry about him, Malia; he’ll be a man soon. It’ll be him taking care of us, I’ll warrant.”

“Imelda… You should know. He has magic, just like his father.”

“Oh? Well, and what of it. Our great aunt was a healer; could have used her abilities now, couldn’t we.”

My mother shook her head, and now there was fear in her eyes.

“You don’t understand. His father was a great mage. His magic…” She sighed, the thought seeming to tire her. “It’s in Casien. I’ve seen it; he doesn’t even understand it himself yet. He plays with fire as if it were a part of him, he…” She paused to cough, more weakly this time. “It will become a danger to him. He will not be able to control it without proper training. He must…”

“Hush,” said my aunt, brushing back her sister’s hair so she could lay a cool, damp cloth over her forehead. “We’ll see to the boy. Don’t you worry. We’ll find someone who can teach him, and if not here, we’ll sail to Skyrim. They’ve a college there, don’t they? The boy will be fine, Malia.”

But the look in my mother’s eyes told me she did not believe her.

//

“Are you sure about this?”

My uncle straightened and gazed down at the burden he’d just carefully deposited in the bed before meeting his wife’s eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she said. “You know it’s the only way. We have to think of the girls first. You’ve seen how superstitious and bigoted these ignorant Nords are—

“And so long as he’s with us, he’s a danger to us.” My uncle sighed and nodded. “I know. I just—look at him, Melda. He’ll be all alone here. He’s only 17, and still such a little thing. I keep waiting for him to fill out.”

My aunt frowned. “What a shrimp of a man the father must have been.”

“And Malia never spoke of him, did she?”

“No. Only once, just before she died, to tell me about the magic he’d passed on to the boy. But Meryn, even if it weren’t for the magic—we don’t have the money to maintain him. And that passage to Riften is too good to be true.”

“He could help us,” my uncle argued. “Whether we’re in the mines or a farm or wherever we might be, he’ll pull his weight. He always has.”

“Has he! He’s a lazy thing, and you know it. Been a lay about ever since his mother died, only moans about not being able to go to school as if he’s better than the rest of us! And do you know how many times I’ve caught him lying in the fields instead of working, staring up at the sky like a half-wit? Or playing with that damned fire of his?” She crossed her arms, huffing under her breath. “I don’t deny it rubs me the wrong way, leaving him here. But it’s the only way. We need to use the resources we have left on the girls. Now we’ve brought him to Skyrim; it’s what I promised Malia all those years ago. That’s the best we can do.”

My uncle nodded again before looking down at the sleeping face of his nephew: a face still round with youth, freckles dotting the cheeks, only the tips of the ears peeking out from the wild dark hair.

“Fare well, lad,” he murmured, once my aunt had left the room. Then, finally, he, too, turned and left.

//

“ _Casien!!_ ”

I dropped the book and sat back with a start, sliding from my heels and stumbling onto my rear. My breath came sharp and quick in my chest, and I looked up at Brelyna, her face blurring before me.

“They left me,” I said, blinking. “They left me because I had magic.”

“Oh…”

Brelyna knelt beside me, and after hesitating, put an arm around my shoulders, squeezing. After a moment, I leaned in, curling my arms around her in return, squeezing my eyes shut and pressing my face into her shoulder. I’m not sure she understood exactly what had happened, but she was the type of person who would offer unconditional comfort to a friend just because she knew they needed it.

I didn’t sob or cry out bitterly at what had been revealed to me. But I could feel myself shuddering as I tried to breathe. I hadn’t seen my mother’s face for nearly ten years now. I certainly had never expected to see it again, nor to hear her voice, to hear my name on her lips.

After a few seconds, I managed to get my feelings under control and sat back, wiping at my eyes with the heels of my hands. I sniffed, and wiped absently at my nose, too. I was embarrassed, but my hands were still shaking, too, from what I had seen.

“What happened?” Brelyna finally prompted, her voice gentle.

I swallowed. “I saw… My past. Things I’m not supposed to see.” I bit my lip, feeling more tears spill over. “I saw my mother. She was dying, and she asked my aunt to… to take care of me. But she didn’t. She left me, in Windhelm. She left me to die.”

“What’s wrong? Casien, are you all right?!”

We both looked up at Eleanor, who was hurrying towards us, Hanna behind her. They must have seen us from across the way; Hanna had insisted that we not go too far, after all.

I looked down, unable to answer—too embarrassed to admit that I had given in to the books’ siren call, and too ashamed of my tears now.

“It was the book,” explained Brelyna, and I felt her put a protective arm around my shoulders again, bless her. “It showed him… some bad stuff from his past. Eleanor, _please_ don’t yell at him. He couldn’t help it. I hear the books, too; it’s just… I’m not a scholar like you two. The only thing I want to know is how to get out of here!”

“I’ll second that,” said Hanna, evidently cutting off whatever Eleanor had been about to say.

Finally, I heard Eleanor sigh, and our eyes met as she knelt down beside me, her hand finding my own. She seemed to want to collect her thoughts before speaking, her fingers absently squeezing mine.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” she eventually said. “And this isn’t your fault. It’s this place. It knows what you want, what your… what your heart wants, I guess. The things you’ve always wanted to know.”

I nodded because that made sense. I chewed on the inside of my cheek for a moment, then:

“There are a _lot_ of things I want to know,” I said, my voice low with emotion. I hesitated, but knew I needed to tell the truth. “Don’t leave me alone. I can’t… I can’t be trusted.”

She gave my hand a squeeze and nodded. We all rose to our feet, and to my surprise, Eleanor kept hold of my hand. Brelyna wrapped her arm around my other arm, and together we made our way through the Apocrypha.

Our progress was remarkably linear, for once we’d left the platform we’d originally appeared on and chose a direction, the books formed a sort of pathway, only occasionally branching off to the right or left. We stuck to what seemed like the ‘main’ path, the one that was wider, and was lit by mysteriously bobbing candles, which seemed to do very little in terms of lighting the way. There was no ceiling, and the green sky churning above us never seemed to alter.

It was also silent—save for the omnipresent sound of churning water and rustling pages. Occasionally, we would pass a whirlwind of papers, fluttering up and up, propelled by some mysterious force. Otherwise, we encountered no one and nothing. For all we knew, we were the only ones alive in this world.

The further we went, the more I felt the books’ promises whispering through my head. But I clenched my jaw and focused on the task at hand, as well as the firm support of my friends. At one point, however, I paused, for there was something new tickling now at the back of my brain. It felt vaguely familiar, and when both Eleanor and Brelyna looked back at me—for I had stopped—I saw Brelyna’s eyes widen in understanding.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I feel it, too.”

“What is it?” asked Eleanor. “Is it the Black Book?”

I nodded. “I think so. It’s…” I closed my eyes for a second, ‘listening’ to the book’s seductive call. Then I pulled my hand from hers and pointed. “That way, I think.”

The direction I had us facing now took us away from the apparent main path, down a stone road flanked by black ooze on both sides. Side ‘rooms’ formed by more bookshelves and stacks of books branched off here and there, but at the very end of pathway, we could see it: A large sort of alter, pressed up against a dark, foreboding wall, and on it—a large, black tome.

We began to advance, Hanna leading the way, followed by Eleanor, then me, then Brelyna. We were nearly there when Hanna suddenly halted and held up a hand, causing us to all stop as well. We waited; I held my breath, my heart hammering away in my chest.

Hanna whirled to face us.

“Back!” she hissed.

We obeyed. We hurried back the way we’d come, trying to be as quiet as possible. At the last minute, Hanna grabbed Eleanor’s arm and yanked her off the main path, herding me and Brelyna as well before joining us. She urged us silently to all duck down, pressing ourselves against the bookshelves forming the path we were on. Then she held a finger up to her lips.

I heard the creature before I saw it.

It moved at a slow, shuffling pace, heavy footsteps dragging before pressing into the ground. A rasping, low, gurgling sound emanated from its mouth. Even just listening, I could tell it was tall. The sounds it was making with its mouth were far, far above our own heads.

I was able to peak through a hole in the bookshelf, and to this day I am convinced that if Hanna had not alerted us to its presence one or more of us would have died.

The creature was immense. It was at least 10 feet tall. It walked at a stooped pace, long arms nearly dragging on the ground. Huge claws sprouted from both the hands and the feet. Spiny ridges erupted from its head, neck, and back. The round mouth was framed on all sides by a rigid row of sharp, pointed teeth. The unblinking eyes gazed dully ahead.

I grabbed Brelyna’s hand, both of us squeezing as hard as we could. I could feel her hand shaking in mine. I looked and saw that Hanna’s right hand was wrapped around her sword hilt, her knuckles white. I could feel Eleanor’s hands digging into my shoulders, her shaking breath puffing against the back of my neck.

We none of us so much as blinked as it moved past. Perhaps that’s how it hunts—if that’s even what its purpose is. Perhaps its eyes catch movement like a cat’s, or maybe it can’t see at all. I still don’t know. But it didn’t stop, thank every god. It finally passed us, though we still remained as silent and still as stone. Only when Hanna seemed to finally relax did I allow myself to do so as well.

She still held up a hand to all of us before creeping forward and peeking down the main path. Quickly, though, she gave the all clear, and silently urged us up again, and hurrying back down the path towards the Black Book.

“Wait!” whispered Eleanor, grabbing a hold of my sleeve and Hanna’s wrist. I felt Brelyna bump into me from behind.

I looked at her, my eyebrows raising in question.

“Let’s look at it together,” she said. “All at once. We don’t know for sure what will happen, or where it will take us. But at least we should make sure we all go to the same place at the same time.”

We glanced at one another and nodded. It seemed like the smart thing to do. So, on the count of three—I held my fingers up, counting silently. _Three… two… one_. We grasped hands, moved up the steps, and looked down at the open book.

At first, nothing happened.

And then, just as it had the first time, everything disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I did make a few tweaks here -- thing is, our boy is a little over-powered, and just to raise the stakes a wee bit we've got the whole "magic doesn't quite work here" thing going on. Hope y'all can forgive me ;D
> 
> I know this is tagged "Canon Divergence" but just wanted to point that out in case anyone was disappointed!


	12. Chapter 12

It worked.

We experienced the same sensation as before, of suddenly feeling as if we weren’t anywhere at all, until suddenly we _were_ somewhere, our knees buckling slightly as we rematerialized back in the library.

The Black Book was still at our feet, lying open to the world. With a start, I hastily crouched down and slammed it closed, my heart hammering furiously in my chest.

Beside me, Eleanor wordlessly held out her hand.

I straightened again and, after hesitating for a moment, gave her the book.

“This needs to be taken back to the college,” she explained, holding it tightly to her chest and frowning at me, even though I knew exactly what her reasonings were, and fully agreed with them. “The professors will know what to do with it. And…” She looked at all of us now. “Unless anyone disagrees, I think I should be the one to watch over it until then.”

Hanna frowned. “I don’t like the thought of you being near that thing.”

“Don’t worry,” Eleanor assured her. “I don’t have magic, so it’s not as tempting to me, and Brelyna can help me place a spell of binding on it. And I can assure you, I’m _not_ going to open it. Unlike _some_ ,” she added, glaring at me.

Really, it was just like her to act like we hadn’t all just had a horrifying near death experience at the hands of that… _whatever_ it was… that had shambled past us. It was as if none of that had happened, and she was only mad at me again for being an idiot and opening the book against her express command.

“Eleanor…” said Brelyna, and I felt her arm wrap around my shoulders, squeezing lightly. “Leave him be, okay?”

I blinked, surprised (and embarrassed) to find tears beginning to gather in my eyes. With all my friends looking at me, it was impossible to hide the emotions from my face. I looked down and breathed in, wiping quickly at the corners of both of my eyes.

“I think I’m going to head back to my room,” I said, trying to keep my voice as light as possible. I hoped they would leave me then, give me time to collect myself, but—

“I’ll take you back,” said Hanna firmly.

I bristled—I couldn’t help it.

“So you’d leave your girlfriend with that _thing_ just to protect me from some unknown threat?” I snapped before I could stop myself. “Just because the _king_ ordered you to?”

“He didn’t order me,” came the calm, even reply. “He asked me. And I gave him my word. As for ‘that thing’…” her eyes slid towards Eleanor. “I trust Eleanor to take care of it, even though I don’t like that she has it.”

I watched them, staring at one another for that single moment. Eleanor seemed to blush, but her shoulders straightened, and she hugged the book more tightly to her chest. Hanna smiled at her, ever so faintly, and nodded.

I felt my own shoulders slump. And the blush that came to my face had nothing to do with pride, and everything to do with embarrassment over my outburst.

“I’m sorry,” I said—why did I feel like I was saying that so often lately? “I shouldn’t have…” I rubbed at my eyes again, sighing. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just tired.”

“Go get some rest,” urged Brelyna. “And just… try not to think about the things that you saw? We’ll come by and see you tomorrow!”

“Or maybe even tonight,” said Eleanor, and she sounded almost tentative—this was clearly a peace offering. “We could come by and see how you’re doing.”

I shook my head, waving the offer aside. “I’ll be fine. I have to go to dinner anyway. I’ll be too tired to talk after that. And really—I’m fine.”

We said our good-byes, then Hanna and I left the library. Hanna was silent as we made our way through the halls of Dragonsreach. I knew she and the others could tell I was… well, that I _wasn’t_ fine, no matter how much I tried to pretend otherwise. It was if I’d somehow left a part of myself in that silent, shifting, green place. I kept seeing my mother’s face, hearing her voice, smelling the sickly sweet odor of incense cloying the air of our small home. I hadn’t heard my name on her lips for nearly ten years. I thought, before today, that I would never hear it again.

It was hard not to wonder if everything the book had shown me was really true.

Could a god lie? And why would he? And why _those_ moments? True, I had been thinking about my aunt and uncle as I opened the book—I remembered that much. But I hadn’t thought about them in quite a long time. There was a part of me, I felt, that had moved past that point in my life. I had accepted what they had done to me and moved on. I didn’t need them anymore. And they couldn’t hurt me anymore.

But I guess I’d been wrong about that.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” asked Hanna, as we paused before the outer door to the king’s room.

“Yes,” I said, but then I made a sort of groaning sound and dug my heels in my eyes. “No. I don’t know. But I just…” I lowered my eyes, and, not glancing at her, reached for the door handle. “I just need to be alone for a bit.”

“Okay,” she said. I imagine she and the guard stationed there must have exchanged a look or two, but I didn’t care or notice. I opened and shut the door behind me, sighing and sagging against it for a moment before continuing forward. I tugged my boots off and tossed them aside, then did the same with my cloak and sword belt.

I entered the main room. It was empty. The servants had been by, for the bed was made, and the breakfast things were gone.

I came and sat down onto the bed, flopping down onto my back after a while.

_“He won’t understand… He won’t accept that I’m gone.”_

I bit down on my bottom lip, hard, but my mother’s voice wouldn’t leave me be. And now, finally, my own memories came rushing in to overwhelm me. Seeing her standing at the bottom of the hill, saying my name, calling me to dinner. Challenging me to a race, and laughing, gazing back at me as I pumped my small legs to try and catch her. Smiling as I ran to her, feeling her gather me up in her arms—the smell of her hair as she hugged me to her, the feel of her soft skin and rough cotton clothing.

“Don’t,” I muttered. But it was too late.

The first few tears made little trails along my cheeks, getting caught in the dip of my ears. I closed my eyes, waging one last, fruitless battle with myself before rolling over and pressing my face into my hands.

I hadn’t sobbed in the Apocrypha, not with all my friends standing around and watching me. But I did so now, quietly and desperately, wishing I could return and see my mother’s face again, just one last time. I wept for the boy she left behind, for she had been right: I couldn’t accept that she was gone. I was angry at first, angry at my aunt and uncle for not making her better, angry at the gods my aunt prayed to for taking her away from me. I was angry at being taken out of school and forced to do menial labor to help support my family. I was angry when my little cousins came, for I saw how my aunt loved them, and I remembered what it felt like to be loved by someone, to be their whole world. And I had lost that, irrevocably. And I couldn’t accept it.

I wept for the young man my aunt had so callously abandoned on a small bed in a tavern in Windhelm. I wept for my uncle, too weak to stand up to his wife, a man who felt sorry for me, yet didn’t love me enough to fight for me. They feared the magic inside me, and somehow my aunt had used her promise to my mother as an excuse to leave me there, alone. _“It’s what I promised Malia all those years ago. That’s the best we can do.”_ Only it wasn’t, and she knew it wasn’t. She just didn’t care.

I heard the door open and close. I knew it could only be one person, and I tried to take a deep breath, not wanting to cry in front of him. The thought of him seeing me like this, curled up and sobbing like a little child—it filled me with despair and humiliation.

“Casien…”

I felt the bed dip beside me, and soon a large, warm hand was resting on my shoulder, squeezing gently.

And then—I don’t know why. But I pulled my face from my hands, sat up, and threw myself against his chest, pressing my ugly, wet face into his neck.

He held me while I sobbed, his fingers stroking through my hair and rubbing over my back. I didn’t feel like a child, or someone unworthy of his affections. I just felt lost, and hopeless, and utterly wretched. He murmured kind things to me, occasionally kissing the side of my head, but for the most part he was silent. And he let me cry, because I needed to cry, and he held me, because I needed to be held.

Eventually, the tears subsided. I didn’t want to pull back, for I felt safe in his arms, and in this terrible moment, safety, comfort, and love were all I truly craved. But I began to feel embarrassed, for I still hated to appear weak in front him.

“I’m sorry,” I said, sniffing as I sat up a little. I rubbed at my nose, conscious of the snot I tried to wipe discreetly against the back of my hand. “I shouldn’t…” The breath got momentarily stuck in my throat. “It’s… been ten years now, and I shouldn’t be…”

“There is no shame in grief,” he said, his fingers still stroking through my hair.

I breathed in, surprised by his words. Our eyes met. His own were warm, though his expression was steady and calm.

“How did you…?”

“Your friend Hanna told me of your encounter with dark magic. She said you had been given a vision from your past involving your mother, and your aunt and uncle. And that you were…” He paused, seeming to consider his words. “That I should come and see you.”

Hanna. Of course. Sometimes I didn’t quite know what I’d done to deserve such kind friends. She must have returned to Eleanor and Brelyna, and Brelyna must have told her about what I’d experienced in the Apocrypha. And oh, the Apocrypha! He _knew_ that we had been sucked into that awful place, and yet he wasn’t…?

“You aren’t angry?” I asked, frowning at him.

“…Angry?”

“I mean, that we—I know you don’t like it when I put myself in danger. And—and I don’t know if Hanna told you, but the whole thing was basically my fault. Eleanor told me I shouldn’t open the book, but I was convinced she was wrong about it, so I _did_ open it, and, well.” I shifted, guilt creeping up my spine again. “Basically, I’m the reason we all almost died. So, honestly, if you’re angry with me, you have every right to—

“Casien,” he said, cutting me off, his brow furrowing again. “No, I am not—” He paused, sighing heavily.

After a moment, he reached down between us and took both of my hands in his.

“You seem to have a misunderstanding regarding my concern for you. Yes, I worry. It is natural to worry about those you care for. But you are my lover. You are not a child. You are a man… a very _young_ man,” he amended wryly, and I couldn’t help smiling, for he had been a bit grumpy about his age ever since his birthday. “We may argue, and we may disagree. That is the nature of relationships. But I accept that you have agency in your decisions. You are not bound by my will.

Furthermore—I was once your age. And if I blame you for every foolish thing you ever do, then I would have to blame my past self tenfold. And if we did not make mistakes, we could not grow wise. We should remain as children, even as our beards grew long and our skin old and wrinkled.”

I was silent for a moment, the warmth of his words settling over me. I couldn’t help glancing down at his own beard, smiling a little at the few gray hairs peeking through.

“Okay,” I finally said, sniffing absently. “I’ll try to remember all that. I guess… for the longest time, I never really had anyone I really, really wanted to impress. I didn’t really care what other people thought about me, so long as they left me alone. After my…” I swallowed. “After I lost my mother, my aunt and uncle, they…”

I paused, unable to go on, for my throat had seized up unexpectedly, and unbelievably, my eyes were beginning to water again. I swallowed, hard, and felt my lover pull me to him again, letting my face rest against his shoulder, his arms wrapping around me. I probably could have regained control of my emotions—but not when I was being pulled so gently back into his arms like that.

My tears were silent this time, as I sniffed and gazed wearily out at our room and tried not to think of how much my nose was dirtying my lover’s tunic. I wiped it for the millionth time with the back of my hand, a strange thought suddenly coming to me.

“Can I ask you something?” I said.

“Hm?”

“Tell me about your mother.”

I felt him go quite still, and was worried that I had asked something that had brought him pain, but I think it was only that the question was unexpected. He relaxed again, after a moment, and was silent for a long time before responding.

“Her name was Sigird. She was the granddaughter of one of the mayors in Eastmarch, but did not care for her family. I do not believe her relationship with my father was a loving one, but I was a sort of consolation, and she doted on me.

“She was very tall, with long brown hair and blue eyes… I had her eyes, she liked to tell me. She would read to me when I was young. Poetry, history, literature, sometimes she would even tell me stories crafted from her own imagination. I urged her to write them down, but she never did.”

“You got your love of books from her,” I said quietly.

“If I have such a love, then yes. I sometimes feel I have too much of my father in me, but my mother was right. When I look into the mirror, I see her gazing back at me, and it is a comfort.”

“Like she’s still watching over you.” I smiled. “From Sovngarde.”

“Perhaps. The gods grant it may be so.”

We were both silent, then, and after a moment I sighed and shifted, curling my knees in and lying down so I could lay my head in his lap. His fingers moved once again to my hair, occasionally stroking down over my shoulder and arm.

 “I remember my mother less and less each yeah,” I said. “Just little things now. Little moments between us. And I’m not entirely sure they aren’t half-memories of memories at this point. It’s sad, and wrong, that someone so important could just… fade away like that.”

“Yet you love her, even now. Love does not fade.”

I smiled, for it was true. I wouldn’t have been so affected by my vision in the Apocrypha had my feelings for my mother grown muted and dull. But they were still here, as keen as the days of my childhood. I simply hadn’t thought of her in so long—not specifically, and not intentionally—I suppose, as a sort of ward against my own emotions. I was good at that, I thought wryly, recalling Professor Tolfdir’s lesson nearly a year gone now. I had packed away my grief the way people pack away childish things.

I wondered if my lover had done the same.

“I saw something else,” I said after a while. I took a deep breath, for I knew I needed to share this. “In the Aporcypha, in the book. It was my aunt and uncle. I know why they abandoned me in Windhelm now. It was because of my magic. They thought I would draw too much attention, and that I was endangering my little cousins.”

“…There is likely some truth to that,” said the king, his voice cautious.

“I know. And I get that. But…”

“But it is not an excuse,” he finished for me. “And I agree. But those who are pushed to the brink of desperation will often do terrible things, even to those they love.”

“They didn’t love me,” I said bitterly. “You wouldn’t do that to someone you love, no matter how desperate you were.”

“You may not. But not everyone is you, dear heart.”

The endearment was a new one and made me blush. How is it that he so consistently saw such goodness in me? I had never thought myself beyond the ordinary, either in kindness or in cruelty. Yet he looked at me and saw… what was it he had said to Galmar? That I was ‘good,’ ‘honest,’ and ‘strong.’ And yet he seemed to struggle to see the worthiness in himself. But I _did_ see all those things in him, all those things and more.

“You _will_ promise me,” he said, his fingers now playing with a strand of my hair, twirling it slowly, “not to go back there. No matter how much you wish to see your mother again.”

I sighed, my own fingers idly scratching at the material of his trousers. “So you _are_ mad at me.”

“No. But I would extract this promise from you just the same.”

That was fair. I don’t know how much Hanna had told him about the Apocrypha—had she mentioned the creature we’d encountered? It seemed doubtful.

“All right,” I finally said, but then I frowned. “Of course. I’m not an idiot, you know. If that really is the realm of Hermaeus Mora—well, everything I’ve read says he’s not to be trusted.”

After a moment, I sat up, facing him. “And besides, Eleanor has the book now. And I think she’d hit me over the head with it before she let me open it again.”

He smiled, a low chuckle actually escaping him.

“She’s seems very… self-assured, this friend of yours.”

“That’s one way of putting it,” I said wryly.

He gazed at me for a moment, then reached over to push a strand of hair behind my ear, the tips of his fingers forming a caress along my jaw.

“Will you come to dinner? You may stay here, if you like,” he added, probably seeing the immediate look of dismay that must have come to my face.

I almost sagged with relief. “Can I really? I honestly don’t think I can face them all tonight. It won’t be such a bad thing, will it? The future High King’s betrothed not attending dinner at the moot, just for one night?”

“No. Your absence will be noticed, but I will simply say that you are ill. As for the moot—I have news. Jarl Skald arrived this afternoon, so it has finally begun. However, we will not officially meet until tomorrow.” He looked at me. “I’m afraid I will have to insist that you attend.”

I sighed. “That’s fine, I guess. And I promise to keep my mouth shut and not embarrass you and Galmar. Now _don’t_ go on about me being so clever and all that other nonsense,” I added, and even reached over to lay my hand over his mouth before he could open it and say something foolishly complimentary.

He smiled beneath my palm before reaching up to gently pull it away.

“Very well,” he conceded. “But know that it is your right to speak your mind. The close companions of a jarl are his counselors in all things and are expected to voice their concerns.”

“So Galmar and I are the only ones keeping you in check?” I asked, grinning cheekily.

“Mm. Mostly just you. Galmar tests my patience sometimes with his over-cautiousness of late.”

But that _was_ Galmar’s way of keeping him in check, I wanted to point out, but didn’t of course. It was funny. When I’d first met them both, I wouldn’t have ever imagined that Galmar was the voice of reason between the two. But now I knew my future husband to be as stubborn as a bear, and that sometimes, when he set his mind to something, only his closest friend and general could urge him to see the wrongness of whatever decision he was considering—and the king, as most great men and women, I would imagine, did not like to admit to wrongness.

He sighed, then, stretching as he got to his feet. I noticed him arching backward, placing a hand at the small of his back until it popped. Maybe I should start researching massage techniques, I thought, and hoped I was managing to keep the mischievous smile off my face.

“Oh?” said my lover. “And what is that smile for.”

So much for that.

“Nothing,” I said innocently.

“Hm.”

He looked down at me for a moment, and, as if unable to help himself, brought his hand to my face yet again, his fingers stroking my cheek. He leaned down, then, as if to kiss me, but I drew back rather on instinct, my eyes widening in horror.

“Really?” I asked, self-consciously wiping at my nose, even though it was no longer stuffy from my tears. “When I’m all ugly and snot-faced?”

“Really,” he said, and leaned in again and kissed me, his finger curling along the back of my neck. I watched him turn to go then, sad to see him leave, but relieved that I didn’t have to follow, even if just for this night.

He disappeared into the sitting room, and I had lain back onto the mattress on my back, staring up at the canopy and wondering what I might do to distract myself from any lingering depressive thoughts—when I heard a pair of familiar voices at the door.

“Oh gods—it’s you!!” cried the first voice.

“Hi!” squeaked the second voice. “We didn’t—um—

“Is Casien here?” interrupted the first. “We know he has to go to dinner, we just thought we’d stop by to see how he’s doing. But—we can come back later!”

“We don’t want to be a bother!”

“It is no bother,” assured the king. “And he is not going to dinner. You are both welcome to stay here and visit. I will have dinner sent up to you.”

“Oh—Oh, thank you, Your Majesty!”

“Brelyna,” hissed Eleanor, “It’s ‘my lord,’ not ‘you majesty’.”

“My lord!” came the too-high-pitched response.

I heard the door shut then and sat up, hastily running my fingers through my hair in hopes of settling it a bit, and hoping against hope, too, that the evidence of my crying wasn’t too obvious.

“Casien!” cried Brelyna as soon as she saw me, and I scooted back to make room on the bed so she and Eleanor could join me. “You look awful!”

I sighed. “Thanks.”

“I’m sure that king of yours made you feel at least a little better,” said Eleanor, crossing her legs before her. “Hanna said she’d never seen him look so concerned. I bet it’s all anyone will gossip about for days.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, startled. “What was he doing when she found him?”

Eleanor shrugged. “He was in some sort of important meeting, I think. With the new jarl that just arrived, Skald, right? And a few of the others.”

“Oh, gods.” I buried my face momentarily in my hands. “Galmar’s going to _kill_ him. He’s going to kill me!”

“I think it’s sweet!” said Brelyna. “He really does love you!”

“Yes, but I also think my chances of being assassinated just increased like tenfold.”

“Ohh,” they both said, eyes widening with understanding.

I could just picture the scene in my head. The other jarls were probably squabbling about something while my lover watched them with narrowed eyes, stroking his beard. He was no doubt trying to lead them towards a certain point of agreement, but they were being stubborn as usual. Hanna would have knocked and been let in, claiming she had an urgent message for the future High King. I could almost envision the look of alarm on his face when she told him of my distress.

News of Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak rushing from a meeting to comfort his beloved would have spread all throughout Dragonsreach by now.

I sighed. “Yeah. Galmar will probably double the guards or something now. Hell, he’ll probably recruit Hanna back into the Stormcloaks, too. Sorry, Eleanor.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” she said, making a face. “For the record, you were totally wrong about long distance relationships. They really suck when you don’t have access to royal mail birds.”

“I was definitely wrong,” I agreed. “And trust me, they suck even _with_ the royal mail birds.”

“So…” said Brelyna, after a few more seconds ticked by. “How are you?”

The easy lie would be to say that I was fine. That’s what we all say, isn’t it, when our friends ask how we’re doing? We think to ourselves, _they don’t really want to know_. They’re just asking to be kind. But what was kindness, then, if not a sincere desire to help the people you care about? On the other hand, being too straightforward with my response might have led to another disastrous crying session, and nobody wanted _that_.

“I’m… going to be all right,” I said carefully, my fingers absently picking at a thread from the bed linens.

“Good,” said Eleanor firmly, and I caught her giving Brelyna a quick look before she could ask any sort of follow up question. “So. What do you think they’ll send up for dinner? I’m guessing it’ll be better than what we received last night.” She smirked and leaned back, resting on the heels of her hands. “Seeing as how we’re sitting on the bed of a High King at present, and speaking to his future consort.”

“Please,” I said, getting into the spirit. “Yours Truly may get the royal treatment, but that doesn’t mean you lot do, too. But I _may_ let you sample some of the delicacies after I’m full, and after you’ve done with whatever scraps they’ve sent up for you.”

They both gaped at me. Eleanor was the first to break.

“Why you—!” She grabbed a pillow and flung it at me; I ducked, and it hit a lamp, causing it to topple over and crack at the base.

“Oh, crap,” she said, eyes wide.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll just tell the servants Ulfric and I have really wild sex.”

This time when they gaped at me, I grabbed a pair of pillows and threw both of them; they shrieked and threw them back at me—and before long, we were making an utter mess of the bed and having an all-out, knock down pillow fight as if we were three pre-teens on our first overnight visit.

It wasn’t a bad way to end such a night, frankly.

//

“Do I want to know?” asked the king, later that night, as he surveyed the semi-wreckage of our bedroom. In addition to the toppled-over lamp there was now a tilted painting; another lay on the floor, having fallen off the wall, and there were pillows everywhere.

“You and I have really wild sex,” I said.

He arched a brow at me. “Do we.”

I grinned.

//

 

More art! This time from the amazing [learielle](https://learielle.tumblr.com/)! Do commission them!

   

_Casien, Ulfric, Ysme, and Hanna!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas, everyone! Or should I say, Happy Saturalia! ;D 
> 
> //
> 
> A few notes and thoughts: At this point, the rest of Part 2 is mostly planned out, so yay! I had been waffling about doing a Part 3, but I think I'm finally settling on doing it? Anyway, I've already got ideas. It'll be set in the near future, so get ready for mid-20s Casien! Stronger! More badass! Still kind of a cry-baby though! And Ulfric with slightly more gray in his beard because his husband is, well, we won't say "high maintenance" because that's probably not a thing in Skyrim, but, well.
> 
> //
> 
> And since it's nearing the end of the year, I just thought I'd share with you guys a few things that somehow never made it into the story but are true nonetheless:
> 
> 1\. Casien is addicted to coffee. He has to have at least a cup every morning, and sometimes he'll drink it with his lunch, too.
> 
> 2\. He goes to bed super early, around 8:30 or 9. Ulfric usually hits the hay around 10 or so. They're more likely to have morning sex because it's one of the rare times they're both together and alone.
> 
> 3\. Ysme is ace/aro. It's one of those things that's hard to make obvious in the narrative itself.
> 
> 4\. Casien is about 5'6. Ulfric is 6'3. Brelyna is about 5'2. Eleanor is Casien's height. In height order, it probably goes something like this: Brelyna, Casien/Eleanor, Una, Ysme, Hellina, Hanna/Ania, Galmar, Ulfric.
> 
> 5\. Name pronunciations! KASS-ee-un (Casien), ah-NEE-uh (Ania), HELL-ih-nuh (Hellina), OO-nuh (Una), IZ-may (Ysme).


	13. Chapter 13

Breakfast was a rather sober affair the following morning.

Each time I bit into my toast it tasted like paper, and the coffee I washed each bite down with tasted too bitter. I finally gave up, pushing my plate away and sighing, resting my elbows on the little table and my forehead in my hands.

The king sat across from me, reading his usual letters and quietly eating. It was rather telling that he didn’t try to soothe me, as was his usual wont, or to try and convince me that everything was going to be all right, and that I really had no reason to be nervous.

“Are you ready?” he asked quietly, once he’d finished.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I said miserably.

He lay a comforting hand on the back of my neck as we made our way out of our room and down the hallway. The guard stationed at the door to the guest chambers fell in behind us, for if I needed to separate from the king for any reason, he had been ordered to accompany me.

Galmar and Ania were standing at the end of the hallway, talking quietly. They looked up as we joined them, Galmar nodding. The look that passed between him and the king was perhaps fraught with a bit more tension than normal—I had a feeling they’d had something of a brief falling out before or after dinner yesterday, as Galmar had no doubt disapproved of the king’s willingness to hastily abandon his meeting yesterday afternoon—just one more way he was making his attachment to me far too well known.

Ania was rather finely dressed, I noticed, her long, fitted tunic embroidered with rich details and slit up to the thigh to show off her fine trousers. It was a very fashionable look for a northern woman, and I suspected Hellina had had a hand in picking it out.

“You look as nervous as I feel,” said Ania.

She fell into step beside me as Galmar and the king walked ahead of us. She and her father were both armed, of course, as were the king and I. Together we made our way downstairs and to a place I had yet to explore in that great castle: the council room.

It was a large room, though smaller than the throne room. It lay against one of the outer walls, so large windows looked out onto the western plains below. Fires burned cheerfully at each end. Tables full of refreshments stood along one wall, with servants hovering nearby. A large, rectangular-shaped table dominated the center of the room. Placards with the names of each hold were evenly spaced along the table, and in front of each placard sat that hold’s representatives: presumably the jarl, or jarl-to-be, and his or her advisors.

Some, like the Whiterun contingent, were rather sparse, as there was already a presumptive jarl—in this case, Vignar Gray-Mane. Others, like Solitude, had a whole cluster of chairs, and each person seemed bound and determined not to meet the eyes of the person sitting next to them. I sighed, quietly. This was going to be long, and it wasn’t going to be pretty.

We were the last contingent to enter, and took our seats at one end of the rectangular. Jarl Laila Law-Giver and her two sons sat to our right, Jarl Korir and his wife and brother to our left. As we took our seats, I sat to the king’s left, Galmar to his right, and Ania beside her father.

“Why, Ulfric,” said Laila, “How it pleases me to see your intended appear to be in such fine health. I’m sure we were all so worried when you left us to be with him yesterday.”

Ulfric said nothing, only side-eying her for a moment before pouring himself a glass of water.

I noticed Korir narrowing his eyes at me, but I didn’t allow myself to flinch. Instead, I held his gaze for a second before sliding past him, as if his bigotry did not concern me.

“Well,” said Vignar, smiling, “Now that we’re all here—as host, I welcome you all to Dragonsreach. It is also my right as host to defer my own rights and appoint another to preside over this moot. I do so now, and appoint Jarl Ulfric of Windhelm to lead us through these discussions.”

“Sycophant,” muttered Laila’s son Harrald, though luckily I don’t think Vignar heard him. His brother Saerlund snorted under his breath.

“I have spoken with each of you here today,” said Ulfric, commanding the room as he always did when he spoke, even when he did not raise his voice. “And no doubt many of you have been meeting secretly with one another.” He smiled at the scandalized murmurs that rippled across the table. “Which is your right, of course. But today we meet to decide on the future leaders of Skyrim. I propose we begin with our host city.”

“And who has leave to vote on each of these appointments?” asked one man, his steady voice rising over the mutterings of the others. He was sitting with the Solitude contingent, his arms crossed over his chest. I noticed the weasely Erikur sitting beside him, and the contrast between the two men was stark. While Erikur was thin and clean-shaven, his dark hair still framed on either side of his face by twin little braids, this man was broader in the chest, and wore his red hair short, rather in the fashion of many Imperial men; his face was also covered in a close but heavy beard.

“And I’d like to know what that traitorous whore’s advisor is even doing here,” said a man on the other side of the table.

“Brother,” said the man beside him—they were the sole representatives of the Falkreath contingent, so I assumed they must be the brothers Dengeir and Thadgeir— “You should not refer to a former jarl in such a way, regardless of her politics.”

“A whore she most certainly was not,” chimed in Vignar’s wife. “She remained loyal to her coward of a husband, even towards the end.”

“I am sure the representatives from Falkreath wish to retract their statement regarding Jarl Elisif of Solitude,” said Ulfric.

He sounded almost amused, yet when I glanced at him, his expression remained as neutral as always.

“We do,” said the calmer brother—Thadgeir, I think—and when his brother opened his mouth as if to deny it, I noticed Thadgeir lay a warning hand on his arm.

“My question remains unanswered,” said the bearded red-headed man, seemingly unaffected by the insults which had been leveled at him and the woman he apparently once served.

“Only the jarls may raise another to their ranks,” replied Ulfric. “At present there are four jarls remaining in Skyrim. It is we who will decide who should sit upon the throne at Dragonsreach.”

Vignar was already looking quite smug, and as it seemed his appointment was at this point already a foregone conclusion, I wasn’t surprised.

But I suppose I oughtn’t to have underestimated my lover.

“Who are the candidates for jarl of Whiterun?” he asked.

Everyone looked expectantly at Vignar.

“I am the sole candidate, my lord,” he replied, still wearing that smug smile. “It will be an honor to serve this great city as jarl.”

“Hold, Vignar,” said Laila. “You are not jarl yet.”

The smile flickered on Vignar’s face, ever so briefly.

“And there are no other candidates?” asked Ulfric.

“None, my lord,” replied Vignar, sounding altogether uncertain now. Beside him, his wife began to look confused.

“I understand you were placed here to oversee the running of Whiterun during this important transitional time,” said Korir, finally speaking up.

“Were you chosen by Ulfric to lead Whiterun, or did you present yourself as its rightful leader?” asked Skald.

He was an elderly man whose family had served as the leaders of Dawnstar for years. There was something petty and mean about his face, but I knew, after living beside the king for nearly a year now, that one could not always pick one’s staunchest allies.

“Yes, Vignar,” said Ulfric, his chin resting on his hand now. “My memory is not quite what it used to be. Did I choose you? Specifically you?”

Vignar cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably.

“No, my lord. You did not. But—I was the only one who stepped forward at the time! And I have cared for Whiterun for a year now. She has prospered under my watchful eye, and I think there are none who would deny it.”

“The Battle-Borns and their allies might,” said Laila.

“The Battle-Borns!” Vignar spat the name from his lips as if it were poison. “Those treasonous bastards! What have they to do with any of this?”

“They are citizens of Whiterun,” said Laila. “And hold great influence over many of the people who live here.” She paused, a thoughtful smile coming to her face—though I knew her well enough now to know it was feigned. “I wonder. Is it a good trait in a jarl to hold so many of his own people in such contempt?

“A good jarl must always look to his citizens first,” said Korir. “ _All_ his citizens.”

“As Ulfric Stormcloak does in Windhelm?” said Vignar’s wife, the words seeming to spring out of her before she could stop them. Her face flushed, and beside her, her husband gaped at her, but it seemed she knew what was already happening, and there was no use stopping it.

“Do you think,” she continued, pointing suddenly at me, “that by parading that boy around we will all forget how Windhelm treats its Dunmer citizens? I say that Ulfric Stormcloak is a hypocrite, and of the highest order at that! Look after his citizens, indeed!”

The shocked murmurs that rippled across the table soon erupted into angry, shouting voices, people yelling and arguing with one another.

“A good jarl learns from his mistakes!”

All of the voices immediately quieted and gazed up at me in surprise. That’s because I realized that I was now standing, and that the person who had spoken so forcefully a moment ago—was me.

I don’t know what had come over me. I certainly hadn’t intended to speak a word throughout the entirety of the moot, and to simply play the part that Ulfric wanted me to play, however discomforted it made me. I was no speech-giver, and even now, as I took in the sea of curious, expectant faces, I felt my body shudder, and my lungs seem to momentarily collapse in on themselves.

I took a deep breath and clenched my hands into fists—I was certain my fingers must now be shaking.

“A… good jarl learns from his mistakes,” I managed to repeat. “In Windhelm, my people have suffered, yes. They were often neglected by those who ruled the city, and it has been that way for generations. Their pleas were ignored for too long, but now—now, that is no longer the case.

“I met with them. I spoke to them and learned from them what they felt most needed to be changed. I did so with the jarl’s blessing.” I looked down at him now, his eyes meeting mine, though his face was unreadable. “We met and discussed these issues. We chose which to prioritize and began working on them immediately. We adjusted the way the citizens of Eastmarch are taxed so that we might pay for many of these projects. The Dunmer of Windhelm continue to have a representative, and I swear…” I looked out at the others. “I swear, by my gods and by yours, that many mer, even Dunmer, will stand by their jarl now. It has been many years, many generations, and old hurts aren’t soon forgotten. But if necessary, I am fully willing to present a signed statement from the various Dunmer business leaders of Windhelm who will support my assertions.”

After a moment, I sat back down, my knees feeling like jelly. An uncertain silence seemed to linger over the assembly, but the murmurs began again not soon afterward. I took another deep, steadying breath, and glanced to my right. The king was looking at me, an ever so slightly crooked smile on his lips.

“That is… a lovely story,” said one woman, her voice rising above the rest. She was sitting next to the bearded man from Solitude. “And I do not doubt it. But I think it is fair to say that we all know why Windhelm’s jarl might suddenly begin to care about the Dunmer in his city.”

“But the lad is right, is he not?” said another woman. “To realize one’s own mistakes, and to act to rectify them, is indeed an admirable trait. One might even say a kingly one.”

I recognized her from dinner the other night. She had been sitting next to the Argonian, who sat beside her now, along with another man. They were with the Morthal contingent, though it was clear that they were together as a group, and kept themselves separate from others in that city who hoped to win favor.

“And to do so for love does not diminish the act,” she continued. Her eyes met mine, and she smiled. “Indeed, I think it shows a willingness to listen to one’s heart. And I should think it far better for a jarl to cling to love than to bitter hatred.”

“Well said, Sorli,” said Laila, though I couldn’t imagine a woman less interested in love than the crafty jarl of Riften.

“And I stand by the words of my uncle’s intended,” said Ania, speaking up suddenly. “The roads in the Gray Quarter are already being rebuilt, and the city guards are undergoing…” She paused, looking at me, her brows scrunching together. “What was it again?”

“Sensitivity training,” I said, trying not to smile.

“Right, that. Sensitivity training.”

“Could you do the same, Vignar?” asked Skald. “Could you set aside your prejudice and make peace with the Battle-Born family, and with their allies?”

“This… This is absurd!” Vignar said, practically sputtering. “The Battle-Borns supported the Empire! They are traitors, traitors to Ulfric and to Skyrim!”

“They are citizens of Whiterun,” said Ulfric, finally speaking up again. “And of Skyrim, as are we all. As was Jarl Balgruuf, who ruled this great city with honor and was once as a brother to me. The war is over, Vignar. Skyrim is free. Whiterun cannot have a jarl who looks about him and sees enemies around every corner.”

“And yet there are no other candidates,” said Laila, feigning a sigh.

“I believe Vignar has two nephews,” said Ulfric. “As well as a niece.” He turned to look at the servants lined up near the side table filled with finger foods and ale. “Perhaps one of you would be so kind as to find them and bring them here.”

All of the servants looked as if they’d just been addressed by a god, and not a particularly benevolent one. I understood their feeling—servants were not used to being noticed, and when they were, it was usually because they had done something wrong.

The lead server—for there is always a lead on the floor, something I don’t think is blatantly obvious unless you’ve been in service yourself—quickly came to his senses, however, and bowed.

“Yes, my lord,” he said, before turning and hurrying out of the room.

“This is an outrage,” said Vignar, after the man had left. “We agreed—

“There was no agreement,” said Ulfric, cutting him off. “ _You_ stepped forward, _you_ named yourself ruler of Whiterun. _You_ claimed that you could care for this city, and I allowed you to do so. As you may recall, Vignar, I had other matters to attend to at the time.”

“Allowed him!” cried Vignar’s wife. “ _Allowed_ him! What gross absurdities! What lies, what betrayal!” She rose up out of her chair, pointing angrily in our direction. “You _planned_ this, you, you double-crossing, self-serving war-monger!”

“A war-monger, am I?”

The calmly spoken words were at odds with the sudden hard expression on my lover’s face as he rose out of his chair and stared down the table at the Gray-Manes.

“‘There goes Ulfric Stormcloak,’ you say—‘slaughtering his way across Skyrim so that he might set the Jagged Crown upon his head and claim the title of High King.’” He leaned across the table, his fingers curling and digging into the wood, even as Vignar tried vainly to settle his wife. “I ask you, how many of our people had to starve each winter, unable to pay Imperial taxes, before you pulled your heads out of your collective asses! How many had to be slaughtered by the Thalmor before any of you were willing to do something about it! But because I, still weary from war, picked up my sword once again and led my people into battle— _my_ people, men and women from across Skyrim, who suffered and bled and died for your freedom—because I did this, _I_ am a war-monger?”

Several others had stood as well now, all shouting and gesturing at one another, even as Ulfric stared down Vignar and his wife across the long table. Galmar had stood up as well, but he looked uncertain, his hand even resting cautiously at the axe at his side. My own heart was beating fast, and I knew it would be disastrous if this moot should fall apart almost before it had begun. Without thinking, I reached up and took my lover’s hand in mine, squeezing gently.

He looked down at me, almost as though surprised to see me still sitting there. Then, the rage seemed to fade from his blue eyes, and his lips pressed together, the color in his face gradually paling once again.

He hummed under his breath, the sound almost a growl, but slowly he sat down. I released his hand, resting my own on his thigh just for a moment before pulling it back.

I caught several of the others looking at us. Laila Law-Giver was smiling, as was the woman Sorli. Even the bearded red-headed man from Solitude had narrowed his eyes, as if he weren’t quite certain he’d just seen what he’d seen.

“Jarl Ulfric is right, my wife,” said Vignar, his face ashen and his voice barely above a whisper as it carried across the now nearly silent room. “We do not wish to cause trouble. We have… We have served Whiterun as best we could.”

“And honorable stewards you have been,” said Laila soothingly. “I am sure Whiterun is grateful for all that you have done for it.”

Just then, the door reopened, and in walked Olfina and her two brothers, the servant holding the door open for them. All three looked as if they’d come as hastily as possible; Olfina was wearing a finely made dress, but nothing out of the ordinary, and she no doubt had been going about her daily business—her hair was in slight disarray, too, half-falling from its hasty bun. Her brothers, Thorald and Avulstein, had noticeably muddy boots and clothing, for the Gray-Manes owned a very sizable farm—rivaled only in size and wealth by the nearby Battle-Born farm, of course—just outside the city; the brothers tended to spend most of their time there while Olfina handled business within the city, though today they must have been close by to have been rounded up so quickly.

“My lord,” said Olfina, pausing before Ulfric uncertainly and offering a slight inclination of her head. “You wished to see us?”

Her brothers stood awkwardly behind her, their gazes flitting quizzically towards their silent aunt and uncle.

I glanced past them to the hovering lead server.

“Perhaps some chairs could be brought for Olfina and her brothers?” I suggested hesitantly. “Next to their aunt and uncle?”

The server bowed, and the chairs were swiftly provided. Olfina cast me a fleetingly curious look before she and her brothers moved to the other side of the table and took their seats.

“What a charming trio,” said Laila, once they were seated. “Now which of you is the eldest?”

I thought that an odd question, since surely she knew. Nonetheless, Thorald nodded deferentially towards her and replied: “I am, my lady.”

“I see,” said Laila. “And you, my dear. Shall I guess correctly that you are the youngest? Might you tell us how old you are?”

“26, my lady,” replied Olfina.

Again, she glanced at me, but all I could do was give the tiniest of shrugs, for I honestly didn’t know what was going on here. Surely the jarls didn’t mean to appoint Thorald Gray-Mane as jarl.

“Very young,” said Skald, casting a disapproving look towards the other three jarls. “Even younger than I suspected.”

“I was very near that age when I became jarl of the Rift,” said Laila.

“As was I,” said Ulfric.

He was leaning back in his chair now, elbow resting on the arm, chin in his hand. He was eyeing the three Gray-Mane children, studying them, though for what I couldn’t possibly imagine. It made me abruptly annoyed that he hadn’t shared any of this with me, for it was clear to me now that he and the other three had already decided against making Vignar jarl of Whiterun before the meeting had even begun.

“Tell me. What are the most important qualities in a jarl?” he asked, and it was clear from his gaze that the question was aimed at Olfina.

She seemed to start, glancing nervously at her brothers and aunt and uncle before answering.

“Excuse me, my lord,” she said, “May I ask as to what purpose I am being asked such a question? If it is to provide proof that my uncle is fit to—

“It is not. Forgive my rudeness, but I would hear your answer.”

She frowned, and when she spoke again, her response was an odd mixture of caution and confidence.

“Then I would say that a jarl must be just,” she began. “They must be compassionate, but they must uphold the rule of law. They should respect the traditions of the land and the people they serve. And above all, they must always remember that their duty is to their people, and no one else—not themselves, nor any other foreign government.”

Spoken like an anti-imperial, I thought, though there did not appear to be any guile in her answer. Like many Nords, she had apparently supported the rebellion on principle alone—even though wealth and privilege meant that the war itself did not directly affect her.

Though, to be fair, I could now pretty much say the same.

“She is well-spoken,” said Korir. “I will give you that.”

“Yes,” agreed Skald. “It is easy to give a pretty answer, especially when one is so young and lacking in experience.”

“Do you believe there are any people in this hold who are not worthy of their jarl’s protection?” asked Ulfric.

Olfina blinked, clearly taken aback by the question.

“No, my lord,” she replied.

“None? All, then, are worthy of protection? Both the rich and the poor? The religious and the non-religious? All races, all sects?”

“Yes,” she said. “Of course.”

“Bandits and highwaymen?” asked Laila with a slight smile. “Thieves and assassins?”

“They should be brought to justice,” Olfina replied, clearly finding the question as bizarre as I did. “And be dealt with fairly by the laws of this land.”

“And the Battle-Born family?” prompted Ulfric. “And others who did not join our cause. They, too, are deserving of a jarl’s protection.”

“Yes,” came the befuddled reply. “I don’t believe much good can be obtained from holding a person’s politics against them. And in any case, the war is over, is it not? And not all Battle-Borns are staunch imperialists, and—do not hate me, Uncle, but not all Gray-Manes supported the rebellion.”

“What?” cried Vignar. “Which of my kin has uttered such blasphemy? Tell me, girl!”

She smiled a little. “I think not, Uncle. Their thoughts were shared in confidence with me, but our family is large. We are not a single mind, but a mix of many different thoughts and opinions. Rather like this city, I suppose.”

“Even more pretty words,” said Skald. “I’d have her put words to action and see proof of such wisdom and magnanimity.”

“Well, Olfina Gray-Mane,” said my lover, smiling ever so slightly. “Can you do so? Can you provide proof that you do not share your uncle’s prejudice against the Battle-Born family?”

With a start, I glanced up at him.

I knew _exactly_ what he was doing.

“You could have warned me about this,” I said lowly, my ire at being left out rising to the fore again.

His only response was to smile at me, the expression curling around the corners of his mouth and causing his light blue eyes to twinkle. I suppressed a sigh, and did my best not to roll my eyes.

“I… confess I don’t know quite how to do that,” said Olfina, bringing my attention back to her.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek. I didn’t want to have to do this, but now that I understood what the jarls were doing—and it made me feel awfully sheepish, and perhaps even a little bit used, to realize that I had unwittingly played a part in what was happening—I felt I had to say something.

“Olfina,” I said, my voice as gentle and apologetic as I could make it. “Tell them about Jon.”

She blinked at me, her cheeks abruptly pinking.

“About… Jon? I don’t…”

She paused, and seemed acutely aware of the now curious looks her brothers and aunt and uncle were giving her.

“Jon?” said the aunt, “The Battle-Born boy you’ve become so friendly with? By the Nine, what has he got to do with any of this?”

Olfina cleared her throat. “Aunt, Jon Battle-Born and I are… engaged to be married.”

The shocked rage that erupted from her family members was something to behold. Her aunt looked as if she might even faint; Vignar had to hold her, even as he yelled at his niece, demanding that she retract what she’d just said or else risk sullying the great name of their noble family. But a curious thing seemed to happen. The more they protested—and even the brothers seemed appalled—the more Olfina seemed to settle in, her chin lifting faintly in the face of her family’s rage.

“Vignar Gray-Mane,” said Ulfric, his calm voice immediately putting a halt to the family’s horrified exclamations. “It is my duty to inform you that you are no longer in consideration for the position of jarl of Whiterun. Your niece, however, is. If she chooses, you and your family may remain at this table. Otherwise, you are ordered to leave immediately.”

“You…” Vignar blinked, clearly finding difficulty putting his thoughts into words. “You really think you can get away with this? This, this _girl_ is under consideration, and I am not? Why, the entire Whiterun guard is loyal to _me_ , not to her!”

“Oh?” said Laila, arching an eyebrow. “Is that a threat, Vignar?”

“Uncle,” said Olfina, and though her face had drained of all color at Ulfric’s pronouncement, she seemed to have gotten her feelings under control—at least for the time being. “Please—Jarl Laila,” she continued, facing Laila now, “My uncle intended to make no threat. He is angry, but—that is, I am honored by your consideration, but you should know that my aunt, uncle, and brothers would always be welcome at Dragonsreach, were I to be—to be made jarl. I would always seek their advice, and seek to learn from their wisdom.”

“Honorable and forthright,” said Korir. “Family should never be neglected; blood should always be honored.”

“Mm,” said Ulfric, and I knew he thought Korir a fool, but then, I imagined there weren’t many he respected at this table. Laila’s look of amusement told me she felt the same.

It was interesting, gazing at the others gathered here, each waiting their turn. I don’t believe anyone had expected this to happen, and I could tell that those who had expected to be easily appointed were now wary, while others seemed more interested and curious about the proceedings. Included in this group were the bearded man and his female companion from Solitude, as well as the woman Laila had named Sorli from Morthal.

“…That is indeed honorable of you, niece,” said Vignar, looking as though he were dragging the words out from between his teeth. “And though I do not approve of your relations with…” He drew in a breath, his expression twisting momentarily, but then he shook his head. “Well. I suppose it doesn’t really matter anymore.” He looked towards our end of the table, and gone was the complacent, sycophantic look in his watery eyes. He looked sterner, prouder—more like the aged warrior of Jorrvaskr he was reputed to be. “My wife and I will remain here, and we will remain silent, unless our opinion is sought.”

“Very well,” said Ulfric.

For the next few hours, the four jarls questioned Olfina, presumably testing her fitness to sit upon the throne of Dragonsreach. They inquired after her politics, education, and business acumen. They provided scenarios involving trade wars, funding deficits, and outside threats from factions like the Foresworn. Occasionally, some of the others would speak up, and though Skald and Korir were often quick to remind them that their thoughts and opinions were not sought after at present, Ulfric and Laila appeared to listen, and, at the very least, always offered some sort of response.

I remained silent for the rest of the questioning. I still felt unsettled by what had happened, and, in all honesty, not a little bit betrayed. Ulfric only knew about Olfina and Jon because _I_ had told him about them. If it weren’t for me, was it possible Vignar would now be the uncontested ruler of Whiterun hold? I knew Ulfric hadn’t liked him the second I’d seen them interact, but I wondered if Vignar would ever know who he truly had to blame for losing his position.

Of course, Ulfric would say that he had only himself to blame, but that would disingenuous. Maybe it was time I started to take my unintentional influence over the future High King of Skyrim a bit more seriously.

And considering the lingering threat of assassination, I could only hope and pray that others had yet to notice it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was originally 25 pages long (!!!!), so it just _had_ to be cut in half. It was tough finding a good stopping point, so if it seems a little abrupt, that's why!


	14. Chapter 14

Lunch was served sometime just after noon. Some folk chose to stand and stretch their legs; others remained seated, chatting gravely and animatedly amongst themselves. Olfina looked pale and exhausted at this point, but I imagined most of it had to do with shock—I could barely still believe what had happened myself; I could only imagine what she must have been feeling.

After a second, I picked up my plate and tankard (of water—I still couldn’t inhale mead or wine as regularly as most Nords) and made my way over to her side of the table. I could feel the eyes of many following me as I went, but I paid them no mind, or at least gave no outward sign that I did.

Olfina looked a little startled to see me approach, but she cleared her features quickly enough. She was going to be a great politician.

“You look like you’ve had an interesting morning,” I said lightly, flashing her a little smile as I pulled a chair up and sat down.

She gave a soft little laugh. “You could say that.”

She hesitated then, her eyes sliding back across the table—and it felt very odd, being so far away and on the opposite end from my lover, who now watched us both with his characteristically impassive face. Others were watching us as well, and I didn’t doubt that they were formulating conspiracies even as we spoke, for I had been the one to prompt Olfina about Jon, after all. And there was the small matter of my being the future husband of the soon-to-be High King of Skyrim.

“He doesn’t exactly look as if he approves,” she said, still watching my lover.

I smiled. “That’s just his face. He’s just thinking.”

“Oh? About what, do you think?”

“About whether he should wear his blue or his red tunic to dinner. Or maybe which book to read before bed tonight.”

She blinked at me then laughed, the sound finally genuine enough to make me relax.

“I have to ask you,” she said after a moment. “Though I fear it may strain our… friendship, if I may be so bold as to call it such?”

“Of course,” I said, surprised. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would be wary of calling me ‘friend.’

“It’s just…” She frowned, and leaned a little closer, lowering her voice. “Why did you not warn me of this? I had absolutely no idea this was even… that they were even discussing this! And I… I don’t even know if it’s something that I truly want. I don’t know what I should do, or say…”

“Hold on a minute,” I said, interrupting her. “First of all, I didn’t know about this either. I’m just as surprised as you are. Well… maybe not _as_ surprised, since I did kind of tell him about you and Jon. I mean, not that I knew you were actually engaged, but, well, you know.”

“Me and Jon!” She stared at me with slightly widened eyes, a hint of color coming to her face. “But how did you…”

I couldn’t believe it. Was I _really_ the only one who had noticed? True, I hadn’t known for sure about their engagement, but it had always been clear to me, at least, that they were in love. Surely, Una, Ysme, and Torbin had thought the same, though none of them had really mentioned it—not that I’d had much opportunity to spend time with Ysme lately. Was it just that the people of this city were so set on siding with one of two factions that they couldn’t even imagine two people from either faction falling in love, even when the evidence was sitting right in front of their faces?

“Olfina,” I said after a while, figuring I had probably best be delicate about how I tried to say this. “It’s… I mean, it’s sort of obvious? I knew you guys were a couple the second I met you.”

“But we don’t—that is, we’re so careful! We don’t even touch in public! We have to meet in secret, and—” She stopped abruptly, blushing, but I got the picture.

I snorted; I couldn’t help it.

“Do you know people thought Ulfric and I were sleeping together months before we ever did?”

I grinned when she raised her eyebrows at me, probably thinking me rather brazen for speaking so openly about my love life.

“We were both pretty stupid then, and I’ll grant that we _should_ have been all over each other way before it actually happened. But apparently we were so in love that everyone around us already knew.” I shrugged and looked at her. “It’s like that with you and Jon. I knew immediately that you were in love. And it’s… been going on for quite a while, hasn’t it?”

She nodded, paling a little. “Three years… I’ve wanted to tell my parents so badly, but I knew they would never approve. And Jon wants so badly to go to Solitude, only he won’t leave me, and I can’t leave my family’s business.” She seemed to realize how things had suddenly gotten much, much more complicated. “Oh, Mara! And now, if I am… if your High King gets his way, I shall never be able to leave! And Jon will be trapped here!”

It all sounded just a little bit too familiar.

And I still hadn’t quite solved it myself. I had my tutors, yes, but I would never progress beyond my apprenticeship without proper college supervision. They simply wouldn’t grant it to me, and understandably so. I was also cut off from the college’s library, and had to rely on those tomes my professors deemed necessary to my education being sent to me by mail—and, naturally, Professor Urag would never allow any truly rare books to leave his library. And my own interests stretched far beyond the field of magic; the college library was immense and contained information on nearly every subject imaginable. Being at the college for the few months that I had been there had probably, truly, been the greatest experience of my life.

And maybe someday I would return. But for now? For now, it was as I’d told the king when we’d been finally reunited after the war: my home was wherever he was. I couldn’t imagine being separated from him, and no matter how much I missed the college, being by his side was more important to me.

“Believe it or not,” I said, speaking carefully, for I never liked to reveal too much about my own feelings, “I know exactly how you feel. Or rather, I know how Jon will probably feel.”

Our eyes met, and I could see the anxiety in hers. It made me wonder if the king had experienced something similar to what she now felt, once he and I had been separated.

“If he loves you, Jon will never be unhappy when he’s with you. If he hasn’t left for Solitude already…” I shrugged, for the answer seemed obvious to me. “Then he’s already made his decision. And maybe, one day, he will go. But that doesn’t mean he has to choose between you or the bard’s college. I mean, people do write letters, Olfina. And even visit.”

“I suppose so,” she said. “Yes… I hadn’t really thought of it like that.”

“You’re just nervous,” I said. “Your mind is trying to find reasons for you to say ‘no’ to all of this. But just… if they let you, at least take some time to think about it and do what you really feel is best, for you as well as the people you love.”

“Thank you,” she said. She looked at me then, her eyes narrowing slightly, that old clever smile coming to her face. “I wonder—do you still suspect me of ulterior motives?”

I smiled back. “Yes and no. I think being a politician comes naturally to you. But… I think you just so happen to be a really nice person, too.”

She laughed. “You certainly do know how to flatter. You know, others will suspect _you_ of being quite the politician after this morning. Using your influence over Ulfric to put forward the name of your new friend.”

“Well, they can think whatever they like, but honestly, I hate politics. I don’t have the head _or_ the stomach for it.”

She gave me a sly look. “I don’t know. I’m not so certain about that.”

Before I could reply, I noticed Ania of all people approaching us.

“Olfina Gray-Mane,” she said, her eyes skidding past me to settle on Olfina instead. “I’m inviting you to spar with me this afternoon before dinner.”

Olfina blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

Ania rolled her eyes, even as she lowered her voice.

“Father and Uncle’s idea, and that old biddy Laila agrees. If you’re to be jarl, you should prove you can hold your own in combat.” She raised her voice to a more normal level tone again. “And by the way, I won’t go easy on you. Might even end up bloodying that pretty nose of yours.”

Olfina _was_ pretty. She had pretty blonde hair and pretty features and seemed to always wear the prettiest and most fashionable dresses.

But she was a Nord, too.

“I’m not afraid of a little blood,” she said, raising her chin as she spoke. “I’ll gladly meet you, say, an hour from now? And maybe it is _you_ who shall have the bloody nose.”

Ania snorted before she could stop herself. “Sure.” But she gave a polite little nod, her lips curling into a grin. “See you then.”

She glanced at me next. “Uncle said to tell you you can go if you want. This part’s just for chatting and backstabbing and strategizing, that sort of thing. He said he’ll see you tonight before dinner.”

I was sure he hadn’t quite put it like that, but I imagined Ania wasn’t the best at relaying the sentiment of a message as well as its literal contents.

I watched her go, noting how some of the others stared, eying the future jarl of Windhelm and High Queen of Skyrim. Tall, athletic, and filled to the brim with confidence, she cut a fine figure, and though he rarely expressed as much, I knew her father was proud of her.

My eyes slid past her, then, to a figure sitting towards the back of the room, her head bent over her desk, pen scratching away.

I started, recognizing her immediately, and couldn’t believe I’d forgotten that she would be here!

“Excuse me,” I said to Olfina.

She nodded, and I made my way towards the back of the room.

“About time you noticed,” said Eleanor, still scratching away in her notebook. “Now are you going to tell me what the next High Queen of Skyrim said to the next Jarl of Whiterun or is that something too private for posterity to know about?”

I shrugged, perching on the edge of the desk.

“Ania was just challenging Olfina to a sparring session. You know Nords. They want to test Olfina’s prowess as a warrior.”

“Hm. Typical.” She paused, tapping her pen against her chin while gazing out at the still half-full table. “I wonder if I’m expected to attend. Seems like it might be important.”

I snorted. “Only if I get to tell Hanna that you’ve been forced to watch two gorgeous women spar against each other ‘for posterity’.”

She lowered her pen and shot me a look. “Hilarious.”

“Pardon me, my lord,” said a servant, distracting us both. I glanced over my shoulder, smiling politely at her.

“Yes?”

“I was just wondering if the… ah, if the lady would like some lunch?”

Eleanor very nearly gaped up at her, her mouth opening and closing a few times before finally squeaking, “…Lady’?”

“Oh no,” I said. “I mean, sure, but this?” I pointed down at my friend. “Is not a lady.”

Eleanor glared up at me. “Hey!”

I couldn’t help it; I laughed, doing my best to stifle the sound so it came out rather as a giggle. Nevertheless, several people looked up from the table or where they were standing and cast me looks ranging from disapproval to curious to amused.

“So are you mad at him?” asked Eleanor, after the servant had brought her a plate.

I blinked. “Mad at who? For what?”

She gave me another of her looks.

“You know who. And for what. I couldn’t always see your face from this angle but I know you didn’t know about Olfina being chosen over Vignar.”

I thought about it for a moment, then: “I don’t know about angry. But it makes me feel… I don’t know.” I frowned. “He _should_ have told me.”

The thought stuck with me all afternoon, even as I managed to slip out soon afterward and sequester myself in our room until dinner. I’d thought about visiting the library, but I didn’t relish running into anyone important and having to act the part of demure future consort to a king. I stopped by Eleanor and Brelyna’s room, hoping to perhaps meet up with Brelyna, but no one answered my knocks. I thought about going downstairs to the sparyard and perhaps finding Hanna or Ysme, but not only would I likely run into the crowd watching Ania and Olfina, but I also felt a little bad for the Stormcloak soldier who’d been ordered to follow me around, so I just decided to go back to the room.

The sun was beginning to set by the time the king returned.

I was sitting on the windowsill near the bed, the window open and the brisk spring air ruffling my hair and clothing. I didn’t look up when my lover entered, for I was focusing on the little piece of paper, folded carefully into the crude shape of a bird, fluttering in the air in front of me—a trick Baran had shown me, one for testing my focus and precision when practicing enchantments. The wind kept trying to blow it away, but I wouldn’t let it, staring it down and pouring magicka into it.

“Is that safe?”

I shrugged, still not looking up.

I heard him remove his boots and sword belt before entering the main room. I could feel his eyes on me as he stood there, watching me.

“You are upset about something,” he finally said.

I released the little piece of paper, letting it zip through the air, where it would have smacked my lover in the forehead—had he not reached up and caught it, utilizing reflexes that were faster than I would’ve given him credit for.

I looked at him. “What makes you think that?”

He sighed and rubbed his free hand over his face and beard, before then running his fingers through his hair, clearly tired.

“Please,” he said, “Get down from there. You will either fall or catch a chill.”

I sighed and did as he asked, since making him fear for my life wasn’t something I ever wanted to force upon him, no matter how irritated I was with him. I pulled the window down after me, shutting it, and even pulled the drapes closed before turning to face him.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Olfina?” I demanded.

He blinked, clearly surprised by the question.

“ _This_ is what has upset you?” He frowned and crossed his arms over his broad chest. “It was jarls’ business, and, simply put—you are not a jarl.”

“No,” I countered, annoyed by the pretentiousness of that statement, “I’m just going to be married to one. Is it that you don’t trust me?”

His eyes widened. “Of course I trust you.”

“Then why not tell me? Why use the information I gave you without telling me what you were going to do with it? Laila Law-Giver knew, so did Skald and Korir. You trust them more than me?”

“Certainly I do not,” he said, even curling his lip up slightly at the thought. He shook his head then, and went to sit down in the plush chair by the bed, sighing a little as he did and resting a hand briefly over his eyes.

“I apologize if I have offended,” he said, lowering his hand and looking up at me. “That was not my intention.”

I scowled.

“I’m not offended.” Not necessarily true, but I saw no reason to actually admit as much. I frowned. “Do you have a headache? And you really should get a healer to look at your back.”

“I do not need a healer to ‘look at my back’,” he grumbled. “And you say you are not offended, yet you stand there, glaring down at me as if I’ve just eaten the last piece of jazbay pie without sharing.”

“Don’t make light of my feelings,” I shot back. “And stop trying to be so… _you_. I’m not going to crawl into your lap right now; I’m seriously… I don’t even _know_ what I am. Annoyed I guess.” I huffed and walked towards the bed, sitting down on it hard enough to bounce a little, my own arms crossing over my chest. “You made me look like a fool. _And_ you used what I told you about Olfina and Jon.”

He looked at me for a very long time, surprising me by not immediately countering my accusations. After a moment, he shifted a little, resting his elbow on the arm of his chair and his chin on his fist, his eyes still holding mine.

“It was not my intention to make you feel foolish. You could never appear as such to me, nor do I think anyone else saw you in such a manner.”

I fidgeted, annoyed by his compliments because they were always so sincere, and I didn’t wish to be complimented right now.

“And using what I told you, _in confidence_ , I might add, about Jon and Olfina? And not even having the courtesy to tell me about it?” I scowled. “What’s your excuse for that?”

“Had it been a secret told to _you_ in confidence, and then relayed to me, I might have thought twice about using it. But you were only sharing your observations with me, observations that I trusted.”

I chewed on the inside of my cheek for a moment, trying to see past my hurt feelings to formulate a reply.

“Did Galmar know?” I finally asked.

“He did not.”

I admit that surprised me. I thought he told Galmar everything; I’d been prepared to yell at him for it, demand that he at least show me the same respect he showed his friend. And on some level, I understood what he was saying: he was a jarl, and I wasn’t, no matter how much we cared for one another. There were at present only four people in Skyrim who could claim that lofty title, and it made some sense that they would discuss things amongst themselves that they would discuss with no one else.

“I am… not used to sharing all of my plans with anyone,” said my lover, surprising me from my thoughts. “Not even Galmar. I respect his advice, and the advice of others close to me, but I am used to making my own decisions. I fear it is a poor leader who cannot say the same.”

“I don’t want to make your decisions for you,” I said, frustrated. “I just… don’t like looking foolish beside you. I _know_ everyone who looks at me sees someone so much younger than you, so much more inexperienced, and then I’m not even a Nord, and I…” I shrugged and looked down at my hands, feeling suddenly, ironically, rather foolish for some reason. “I don’t know what I’m trying to say. It’s just, we’re going to be married eventually, right? Doesn’t that mean we share things with one another? Not that I get to tell you what to do or anything because you’re the king and I respect that, but just, if you’re going to mine me for information and then use it behind my back… I don’t know. I’d kind of like to know about it before everyone else does.”

He was silent for a long time, and his face had grown quite serious as he regarded me.

Then, after a moment, he got to his feet and came to sit down beside me, taking both my hands in his in a move that was beginning to feel familiar.

His eyes met mine. “I am sorry to have made you feel this way. I see now that it was wrong to keep this from you. Yes, I did receive the information initially from you, and in many ways—if I’m right, that is—it is _you_ we will all have to thank for saving Whiterun from Vignar’s selfishness. I cannot promise that I will share _all_ of my decisions in the future, but I do promise to never take something from you that was given freely to me and use it without your permission.”

I gazed back at him, honestly hating how susceptible I was to his apologies. He was always so… _sincere_. I hated even more how much I wanted to throw my arms around him and beg _him_ for forgiveness, for being such a brat around him, for this certainly wasn’t the first time I’d harangued him after a long day of ‘kinging,’ as Ysme might say.

“…All right,” I finally said, feeling the lameness in the response but not knowing quite what else to say.

He sighed, looking down at our hands, his thumbs playing with the knuckles of my fingers.

“I told you before that I had never planned to marry. Nevertheless, that doesn’t excuse…” He halted, taking another deep breath, and meeting my eyes again. “You will be consort. I will try to learn to share as much with you as I can. If Mara is to bind our hearts together as one, then so should she bind our minds, as well.”

“That almost sounds like we won’t be allowed to have different opinions anymore,” I said, smiling weakly.

“Hmm. It will be a warm winter’s day in Windhelm before Casien Yedlin and Ulfric Stormcloak run out of things to argue about,” he said, and it took me a moment to realize he was teasing, after which I couldn’t help smiling and even laughing again.

I pulled my hands gently from his then, only to pull him down by the collar of his tunic so that I could kiss him. I felt his fingers threading through my hair as he cupped my face, but before he could push me down—honestly, pretty much all our squabbles ended this way, and I was hardly sad about that, but the truth was I wasn’t quite done with him yet—I reached up and placed a hand on his chest, stopping him.

He gave me a questioning look.

“I have something else I want to ask you,” I said.

He sat back, apparently able to see the sudden seriousness in my face.

I took a deep breath.

“What happened to Jarl Balgruuf?”

If I had surprised him earlier with my questioning it was nothing compared to now. He sat up straighter, a very serious, very unhappy expression on his face. I knew in an instant that he did not want to tell me. I half expected him to refuse to do so.

But he didn’t.

“Jarl Balgruuf was to be exiled,” he said, speaking very gravely and carefully. “He was imprisoned here at Dragonsreach for some time before that decision was made. However, on the morning of his journey to Cyrodiil, his place of exile, when the guards came to retrieve him, they found him dead.”

It took me for a moment to guess, but—it wasn’t hard, really.

“He killed himself,” I said, my throat closing up at the thought.

The king regarded me silently, his lips pressing together.

“It is thought that a loyal guard brought him the poison the night before. He was… entombed beneath the city in the Halls of the Dead, alongside his predecessors. Vignar at least had the sense and heart to offer him that much.”

“Is he—I mean, if he committed suicide—is he in Sovngarde?”

He looked down for a moment, his expression troubled.

“I do not know,” he said quietly. “He was, in his time, a great warrior. The empire coddled him, and so he felt untouched by the occupation, and could not see how this country suffered. He would not join me, and so he forced my hand. I invaded his city, killed his housecarl, and took his throne from him. In the end, he lifted his sword to meet me in battle, but I could not strike him down, not as I had… not as I had before, with the boy. And before I could make up my mind to bring my sword against his, Galmar intervened and ordered him to stand down, so he did. If he is not in Sovngarde, it is because of me.”

I longed, desperately, to comfort him, but knew that any consolatory words I managed to offer would fall on deaf ears. I could not tell him that he was interpreting his own faith improperly. And I suspected this guilt I now saw hanging over him had more than a little to do with his uncertainty regarding his actions—before and during—the war.

“Balgruuf had children, didn’t he?” I asked instead. “What happened to them?”

“They, along with their caretakers, were sent to Cyrodiil as planned.”

I nodded, looking down for a moment. I reached for his hand then, squeezing slightly.

“I’m sorry I asked you about him,” I said. “I didn’t mean to give you pain.”

“And I am sorry to have kept it from you.” He smiled, the expression rather bitter. “Yet more proof of my selfish tendencies.”

I gawked at him; I couldn’t help it—it was just so ridiculous!

“You?” I finally managed, “Selfish? That’s the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard. I mean, you practically _shower_ me with gifts, and compliments, and—

I was interrupted mid-sentence by a kiss, my startled eyes never closing, blinking back at him.

“My apologies,” he said, smiling. “But I’m afraid you looked very adorable just then.”

I groaned and covered my reddening face, fussing at him when he started laughing. Of course, the kissing didn’t stop there, so at least we managed to go to dinner with rejuvenated spirits. And it felt good to no longer be angry with him, and to know that I helped some of his melancholy to lift, at least for a little while.

And so the moot continued. Every morning, I joined the king, Galmar, and Ania at the head of the table. By the end of the second day, Olfina’s trial came to an end. The rest of us were dismissed at lunch while the four jarls met in private to discuss the matter. I can only assume Olfina was consulted at some point during the afternoon, for at dinner that evening, it was announced that Whiterun had a new jarl. Word had, of course, traveled swiftly, so few were surprised by the news, though I imagined the people who lived out their lives down below Dragonsreach would be more than a little bit astonished. But when I thought of that day in the market, how they all seemed to like and respect her, I thought perhaps they might be rather pleased, once their astonishment was got over.

Deliberations continued as the week dragged on, and soon Falkreath and Markath, too, had their jarls. These appointments were both altogether less satisfying, though I knew from talking to the king about it each night that their hands were tied, for there were few good candidates. In Falkreath, Thadgeir continued to refuse the position, though he vowed to stay by his brother’s side and regulate his decisions. In Markath, the jarl must be a Silver-Blood, and though the children of Thonar and Betrid seemed reasonably clever, they fell too heavily under the influence of their scheming parents. Thus was Thongvar Silver-Blood, their uncle, appointed jarl, and I learned that night in speaking with the king that he and Laila both suspected there would be trouble in that city within a generation, at least. But there was little that could be done about it, for now.

It was the morning of the sixth day, and we were still in our room enjoying breakfast. I tried to eat around the anxious knot in my belly, but it was difficult. Soltitude was up for discussion today, and I didn’t relish stepping into _that_ pit of backstabbing vipers. I had asked Ulfric if he and the others were leaning towards one person in particular, and his response was troubling. _He_ certainly thought he knew the person for the job, but the others were unwilling thus far to back him. He had not yet met with Dengeir and Thongvar, and feared the latter had already been gotten to by Laila while the former was simply contrary by nature. Olfina he might be able to sway, though she was unsurprisingly proving to be very thoughtful and cautious in her decision-making. Laila was the real battle; should he win her over to his side, he felt the others would fall into line. He asked me, then, if I wished to know who it was he favored, but before I could answer, we were startled by an unexpected knock at the door.

We exchanged a curious look before the king set down his coffee and called, “Enter.”

And in walked, of all people, Galmar.

My lover’s friend saw us and approached, his expression hard—harder than usual—and I immediately felt my stomach drop.

“I’ve news,” he said, apparently not interested in wasting time on niceties. “Vignar Gray-Mane was just found dead in his quarters.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 👀


	15. Chapter 15

There are times when fear becomes an almost living thing, wrapping its fingers around your heart and squeezing until you almost feel you can’t breathe. I felt its presence in that moment, staring up in horror at Galmar, whose eyes flicked quickly from mine to Ulfric’s, as if he couldn’t bear to hold mine.

There was a soft, thumping sound, then I felt something searing and hot splash against my bare foot—I hissed and stood up from my chair, standing on one foot and gazing down at the coffee mug I’d dropped without realizing it.

My lover calmly rose from his seat and disappeared inside the washroom, reappearing a few seconds later with a damp towel. He bid me sit back down before wrapping the cool, wet cloth around my foot, pressing it gently to the burnt skin. Then he gazed up at Galmar.

“Tell me,” he said.

Galmar sighed heavily, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Not much to tell,” he said gruffly. “I was downstairs, having breakfast with our people as usual. All of a sudden, there’s a commotion outside the barracks, servants shrieking and the like. I go outside to find out what’s happening, and that’s what I learn: Vignar Gray-Mane, found dead in his quarters. Made my way upstairs, but Whiterun guards all over the place, wouldn’t let me pass. Ran into the Battle-Born boy, tearing down the hallway as if his ass were on fire. He confirmed it to be true.”

“Do you mean Jon?” I asked, still trying to recover from the shock (and to ignore the throbbing pain in my foot now, too). “Was he all right? What was he doing?”

“Trying to find his woman, I imagine. She’s all right,” he said, seeing the question already on the tip of my tongue. “It’s just the uncle—for now.”

“For now,” agreed the king.

His expression was now deeply troubled, even as he continued to absently hold the towel to my foot. I could imagine what he was thinking, and for once I didn’t blame him. All of us: me, him, Galmar, the girls—we were in danger. The threat of assassination was real, and no longer just a threat.

Poor Olfina! Vignar may not have been well-liked by many, but he was her uncle, and they were a close family. I didn’t have any uncles, but I had people I cared about, people I loved. My breath caught in my throat as I suddenly envisioned stumbling upon the body of Una or Ania, or their father, or even the king…

Galmar nodded down at my foot. “Should put that under running water.”

The king and I both started. We looked at one another, and after a second, he rose and offered me his hand. I took it, pulling myself up, but waved his assistance aside. For once, he didn’t press the issue, instead turning to pepper Galmar with more questions while I limped my way into the wash room.

I sat on the edge of the large tub and turned the water spigot on. The ice cold water felt good as it cascaded over my foot, soothing the burnt skin.

I tried to take a deep breath but couldn’t.

I couldn’t help wondering how it had been done. Poison? A knife in the dark while he slept unawares?

After a few minutes, I turned the water off and, after drying my feet, made my way back into the main room.

Galmar was gone again. The king was standing in the middle of the room, his head bowed, fist pressed to his lips. His heavy brow was furrowed, and it took him a moment to realize I’d returned.

His eyes met mine.

I came towards him, and he glanced down distractedly at my feet. He opened his mouth, probably to ask how my foot was, only he didn’t. Instead, he closed the remaining distance between us, surprising me by suddenly folding his arms around me and holding me close to him.

“I _will_ _not_ let anyone harm you,” he murmured into my hair.

After a moment, I relaxed against him and closed my eyes, resting my cheek against his shoulder.

“I know,” I said.

I let him hold me for as long as he needed to, telling myself all the while that this wasn’t proof of Galmar’s assertions—that I was too much of a distraction for the king, that his attachment to me was too all-consuming. But now the threat was too real. Vignar Gray-Mane, the uncle of the new jarl of Whiterun, was dead. However much we had disliked him, he had been an esteemed member of Olfina’s family, her most visible and widely-known connection. And as for myself…

“We shouldn’t,” I said, shaking my head and pushing his arms gently from my shoulders, where he still held me. “I mean, it’s all right in here, but around the others we should be more…”

His blue eyes flashed as they met mine.

“I will not hide my affection for you,” he said. “I am not ashamed of it. And if there are any who wish to strike at me by striking at the one I hold closest to my heart then they will have to strike _me_ down first.”

He renewed his grip on my shoulders, squeezing me gently. After a moment, I finally nodded back, and I had to admit—if I were to truly have a bodyguard, there could be no greater comfort than to have that bodyguard be my own lover, for he was the greatest warrior I knew. Of course, I was no doubt biased on that account, but few could argue that Ulfric Stormcloak would not prove to be a formidable foe for any would-be assassin.

“Could Vignar have been their only target?” I asked.

Perhaps we were wrong, and the danger was past. I hated to think of how Olfina must feel right now, but maybe, just maybe, this was all wrapped up in Whiterun politics, and Whiterun only.

“There is no way of knowing,” he replied. “For now, there will be an inquest, and we must simply wait for the results. However, until we know more, promise me you will go nowhere alone.”

I nodded. “I promise. Don’t worry.”

He cupped my cheek, the touch a caress, before leaning forward and kissing me briefly on the forehead.

“Now,” he said, finally releasing me. “Dress quickly. I’ve sent Galmar to alert the other jarls. We’re to meet in the council room to discuss the situation as soon as possible.”

I didn’t question why I was to come with him; I simply obeyed. I rummaged through my trunk, finding a clean pair of trousers, and pulled them on, along with a nice tunic and undertunic. It was probably the least I’d paid attention to my outfit since coming here, but I knew the king was in a hurry. Once dressed, I strapped on my sword belt and pulled on my boots, the king doing the same. Then we headed outside, the guard as usual falling into step behind us.

Dragonsreach was in chaos. Servants were rushing to and fro, whispering to one another, their faces pale. Guards patrolled the hallways, some eyeing us suspiciously as we passed, others nodding respectfully. My lover paid them all very little mind, his expression hard-set, preoccupied, as we made our way through the palace. I did my best to mimic him, but I couldn’t help glancing at the harried folk all around me, and feel bad for the fear and confusion they must be dealing with.

Surprisingly, the council room was not empty. I thought we would be the first since we had been the ones to call the meeting, but apparently not. Laila was standing next to Skald, speaking lowly to him, and Thongvar was standing by one of the tall windows, hands clasped behind his back as he gazed out at the plains below. Korir and his wife sat together, the jarl holding his wife’s hand. She was speaking very rapidly, her other hand trembling as she waved it around, and he appeared to be doing his best to comfort her. I recalled that they had a young son, and knew they must be thinking of him.

“Well,” said Laila, smiling sardonically at Ulfric as we approached, “This is an unusual turn of events.”

“Terrible security in this place,” said Skald, scowling around him as if the room itself were to blame. “And if it could happen to one of their own, why not one of us?”

“I move that we postpone the moot,” said Korir. “It is too dangerous. Whoever has done this could threaten all of Skyrim, so long as her leadership remains gathered all in one place.”

“We will do no such thing.”

I turned at the sound of the familiar voice, surprised to see Olfina enter the room, Jon at her side. Her eyes flicked briefly to mine before meeting the looks of all the other jarls who turned to face her. She looked pale, and her eyes were red, and beside her, Jon looked anxious, his hand resting constantly on the hilt of his sword—and he was no warrior, I knew.

“And who gives you the right to make that decision?” barked Skald. “You may be jarl of Whiterun, girl, but you’re no more important than the rest of us. Especially those of us who’ve been doing our jobs since before you were born!”

“Whiterun hosts the moot, and while I am jarl of Whiterun, the moot continues,” she replied, her eyes steadily meeting his. “You may go home if you choose, Jarl Skald. I believe our laws decree that any jarl may recuse himself from the voting process. But once the moot has begun, it does not end until all participating parties agree to its conclusion.”

“That is correct,” said Ulfric.

Olfina glanced at him in surprise. After a second, though, she nodded, her eyes once again briefly meeting mine before gazing back at all the others

“Whoever did this—stopping the moot is what they’re after. But Skyrim needs stability, not panic. We must defy their expectations and continue as before.”

“If their intention was to shake us up,” said Thongvar, “and you in particular, then must it not be someone from the Solitude or Morthal contingent?”

“Aye,” said Skald, scowling, “They rather like things as they are, I suspect. Chaotic and lawless. Got a good thing going and don’t want some new jarl ruining it.”

“Your guards are certain it was foul play?” asked Korir.

“They believe so,” said Olfina. “At present, they think… that is…”

When her voice wavered, her eyes going somewhat misty and distant, Jon stepped forward. He lay a hand on his lover’s shoulder, their eyes meeting before he gave her a light squeeze.

“The guard believe it to have been poison,” he continued. “Everything Vignar ate and drank the previous day and night will be examined, as will the servants who served him. This investigation will take time, of course, but the apothecaries should be able to test any substance to see if it has been contaminated with poison.”

“No doubt your priests of Arkay will be able to learn something when they begin to prepare the body,” said Laila.

Olfina seemed to shudder slightly, but then she squared her shoulders, lifting her head again.

“Yes,” she said, “But for now we will have to remain patient. And allow the moot to continue as though… as though nothing has happened.”

“We will reconvene here in an hour,” said Ulfric, “to resume discussions regarding Solitude’s leadership. You will inform the Solitude and Morthal contingents,” he added, looking at Olfina. “And Falkreath, should Dengeir ever see fit to join us.”

She nodded, then he placed a hand behind my back and led the way back out of the room.

“You really should learn to ask people to do things more nicely,” I said, as we made our way down the hallway leading from the council room.

“A king does not _ask_ , little roebuck,” he said under his breath. “Let alone ask nicely.”

The old nickname made my nose twitch for some reason. His hand had slid from my back to my shoulder, where it now remained; I could feel the possessive nature of his touch, but I let him keep hold of me, if it helped to steady his nerves. I had a feeling he wanted everyone to see under whose firm protection I now stood, too—as if that hadn’t already been blatantly obvious.

“Where are we going?” I asked, when it became clear we weren’t headed back to our room. I didn’t even bother asking if I might return there myself, without him.

“To the yard. I told Galmar I would meet him there.”

I made a face. “What am I supposed to do in a sparyard?”

“The answer seems implicit in the word.”

I blinked—really? He was going to make me spar? I mean, I knew he wouldn’t _make_ me, but today didn’t really feel like a good day to butt heads with him in front of an audience. Of course, I still carried my sword and dagger with me, and I knew the fundamentals when it came to swordplay, but I was no warrior, nor did I have any wish to be. And besides, it was one thing to spar against Ania or Una, who really were like sisters to me, in front of a small group of loyal and friendly Stormcloak soldiers. It was quite a different thing to do so here, in a place where people didn’t really know me at all.

The common room area was as raucous as ever; as busy as many of the Whiterun guards must have been this morning, soldiers were still soldiers. They laughed and sang and jostled one another playfully, played cards, gambled, and ate and drank. Some of the chatter died down, however, as my lover strode through with me at his side—and I’m sure it wasn’t on my account. I don’t know if any of the other jarls ever spent time around their own soldiers. I couldn’t imagine the scheming Laila doing so, or grumpy old Skald, or the paranoid Thorir.

We passed a few Stormcloak soldiers, all of whom saluted, Ulfric acknowledging the salute with a nod. The yard was bustling with activity, just as it had been the first time I’d seen it. A few stopped and stared, one man calling out, ‘Hail King Ulfric!’ which garnered a few surrounding cheers and calls for the jarl’s health. ‘And Ulfric’s elf!” called another, but the tone was mocking, and he must have been from one of the western holds. I blushed, and glanced at the man in question, but his triumph was short-lived: one of our soldier’s soon grabbed him by the collar, and then another came over, and another, and soon we left the group behind, the poor man now surrounded by Stormcloaks. It made me feel a bit silly, as if I were some prince whose delicate honor required vigilant defense. But I knew it wasn’t really about me; it was more about my lover, the future High King, instigator and winner of the civil war. And what better way to mock a great man than to mock the person he went to bed with each night.

The king, for his part, ignored it all, though his hand continued to rest firmly between my shoulders. He only lowered it once we’d crossed the yard and came upon Galmar talking to several of the ranking Stormcloak officers who’d accompanied us on our journey.

The officers saw us approach and saluted; Galmar turned, arched an eyebrow at us, then dismissed them before turning fully to face us.

“Any news?” he asked.

“Nothing of note,” replied Ulfric. “The moot continues.”

Galmar nodded.

“Nine knows who’s running the investigation. And now we’ve put a mere girl in charge of the whole thing.”

Beside me, I noticed my lover seem to stiffen.

Galmar snorted. “Don’t look at me like that. She’ll make a fine jarl. But the killer struck at just the right moment. It’s a test for her, all right, and for us.” He glanced at me. “Well, and I see you’ve got this one glued to your side, not letting him out of your sight. Smart move.”

“I’m surprised you think so.”

“It’s a little late to try and convince the others he means no more to you than your prized hound. And now you’ve come down here to make a show of the boy. Any particular reason?”

“Find us a pair of practice swords,” said the king.

Galmar gave an amused little huff.

“Aye, so it’s like that, is it? I’ll see if the girls are around, too. No magic, though, if I were you,” he added, glancing down at me.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m not _that_ stupid.”

He barked out a laugh and clapped me on the shoulder—naturally, almost toppling me over, and even more naturally, my lover merely chuckled at the sight.

Galmar did more than find Ania and Una; he found Ysme and Torbin, too, and each one took turns against me in the makeshift ring. Their skills, of course, all far outclassed my own, but they were my friends and went easy on me, sometimes teasing me, in the case of Ysme and Ania, or encouraging me, as Una and Torbin did. Ulfric stood on the sidelines and critiqued my form; he mostly had us go through training exercises, a series of steps and passes that were eking their way slowly back into my brain as I hadn’t done them for over a year now. Occasionally, he came over and adjusted my grip or my stance. Lastly, he bid the others to stand aside and took up one of the blades himself.

His movements as he went through each form were practiced and graceful, and greatly slowed down for my benefit. I don’t know if others were watching us—probably—but I could scarcely keep my eyes off him.

“Watch my sword,” he chastised, bringing his own down to gently slap me in the side with the flat of the blade. “Not me.”

“Sorry,” I said, smiling sheepishly.

He smiled back.

“Side swing and parry,” he instructed, falling into the next movement, my sword quickly but carefully meeting his. “Push down, step back. Faint, and stab.”

He knocked the stabbing point of my blade easily aside with his own.

“Good. This time a little faster.”

“And no more flirting in the ring,” remarked Galmar. “I’d have you both on latrine duty if you were under my command, the way you’re behaving.”

“I’m not flirting!” I protested.

“You didn’t stare at _me_ like that,” said Ania. “I’m a little offended.”

“Me either,” agreed Ysme. “Blatant favoritism if you ask me.”

“We’re _engaged_!” I said, not realizing until too late that they were joking. All four—Ania, Ysme, Torbin, and Una—burst out laughing, and even Galmar snorted and rolled his eyes.

“Form 14,” said the king, reminding me. “Again.”

I was actually panting a bit by the time he was finished with me. Luckily, the air was still cool, as there wouldn’t have been time for even a quick bath before we had to return to the council room.

I flopped down on a low stone wall, resting my palms on gravelly cement and leaning my head back as I tried to catch my breath. I felt more than saw someone come and flop down beside me. I turned my head slightly and glanced at her. Her dark hair was in its usual ponytail, and she tilted her head back as she glugged down a canteen of water—she’d begun sparring with Una and Ania once she and the rest of the peanut gallery had stopped watching the king and me. I noticed she was wearing the new gloves I’d bought her and smiled.

“So,” I said, leaning my head back again, “On a scale of pretty terrible to gods-awful, how bad am I?”

She laughed and nudged me with her shoulder.

“Not that bad, Sir Elf. Besides, being handy with a sword is hardly a priority for you. Not when you’ve got the bloody High King of Skyrim for a personal bodyguard.”

I frowned. “I guess you heard about Vignar Gray-Man.”

“Mhmm. Everyone down here knows now. I think we were some of the first to know.”

“Do you still come down here every morning?” I asked. “Even though you sleep upstairs now?”

She snorted. “Bright and early. I’m a soldier, not a princess, Sir Elf. Though, to be fair, her young ladyship comes down and joins us, more often than not.

I’d been wondering how she and Una were getting along—well enough, it seemed. Well, at least they wouldn’t have to be pretend lovers anymore since we no longer had to hide what we knew about the assassins. Or at least I assumed so.

My eyes drifted over the yard, passing over the group of soldiers who were finally starting to disperse, for, not surprisingly, the king and I had indeed had an audience. I wondered if that had been the whole point of this—if he wanted rumors to spread that I wasn’t totally incapable of defending myself. But Vignar had been a great warrior himself in his day, and I doubt age had stolen that completely from him. He had hardly been defenseless. And yet… now he was dead.

“Copper septum for those thinky-thoughts of yours.”

I started, and glanced back at Ysme.

“I don’t know,” I said, lowering my eyes to my boots, whose heels I now tapped restlessly against the low wall. “Just thinking about… everything. What happened this morning.”

She was silent, allowing me to go on.

“I think it’s really thrown him. The first thing he seemed to think about was me, and I—I don’t know how to reassure him that he doesn’t need to worry so much. Because now I’m not so sure. But it’s all backwards and wrong, because I _shouldn’t_ be the first thing he thinks about; he’s the king! He should be… he should be thinking about everything _but_ me.”

Ysme snorted. “I don’t think you have to tell Ulfric Stormcloak to spare a thought for all of Skyrim. The man’s lived his whole life for this country!”

“Then why are we here?” I persisted. “Here, in the yard. He should be upstairs, planning, and just, I don’t know. Doing king stuff. Instead, he’s here, with me, trying to prove to any and everyone that I can take care of myself, even though that’s probably not true.”

“Hey…” she said, frowning.

“No, it’s true. I’m a fucking mess, at least when it comes to all _this_. Sword fighting and politics and assassins. Or maybe he knows that already so he wants to show everyone that where I go, he goes. But then I don’t understand why anyone would want to marry someone they have so little respect for.”

“Well, I’m not going to respond to any of that nonsense at the end there,” she said. “But the jarl’s a soldier, Sir Elf, and do you know what soldiers do when they’re worried or scared? They knock each other over the head with their weapons.” She nodded over to where Ulfric and Galmar now stood, talking quietly. “Your king just wanted to blow off some steam, if you ask me. And so would I, if I had to spend all morning and afternoon with a room full of politicians!”

There was probably some truth in what she said, but I suppose I wasn’t very receptive to it at the moment. A sudden thought came to me, for I’d noticed that Ania, Una, and Torbin had gone on to continue sparring with some of the other soldiers (well, Una seemed more content to shout encouragement to her sister), yet Ysme continued to sit beside me.

“You were all told not to leave me alone,” I said, the words tumbling out of my mouth—and even as they did, I knew them to be true.

“Aye,” she said, “And I don’t blame him for it. The new little jarlina loses her dear uncle, and what do you think’s on everyone else’s mind? ‘ _What if I’m next?_ ’ So you set your eyes on those who are most precious to you and you make sure no one can touch them. You think I wouldn’t do the same for my family, if someone ever threatened them?” She snorted. “I’d tie the youngest to my waist and never let him out of my sight.”

“Only I’m not a child,” I pointed out. “But apparently I still need protection like one.”

“And so did Vignar Gray-Mane. Bet he’s wishing he’d had it, wherever he is now.”

Before I could respond to that chilling bit of wisdom, the king left Galmar and approached me. He nodded at Ysme, who gave me a hearty pat on the back before hopping to her feet and leaving us alone.

I stood up as well, lifting my eyes to meet my lover’s.

He studied me for a moment before frowning.

“You are troubled,” he said.

He surprised me then by reaching over and pushing a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture a familiar caress, though never in public—until now.

“Tell me,” he said, lowering his voice.

I really don’t know where the words came from. But they were on my lips and off the tip of my tongue before I could stop them.

“I’m scared,” I said. I blinked and glanced around me, as if the surrounding soldiers might have heard me. “I don’t want anything to happen to me _or_ to you. I just got you back, and I—

The words pouring out of me stumbled to a stop, even as the king reached up and cupped my face in both of his hands, his eyes gazing earnestly into my own.

“Casien,” he murmured. “Breathe. You are safe. I will protect you. And Galmar will protect me.” He held my eyes for a moment before repeating: “We are safe.”

I swallowed and blinked, and finally nodded. He pulled me close then and kissed the top of my head. He smelled of sweat, steel, and the soap we’d used in the bath this morning. How I wanted to close my eyes, lean against him, and pretend none of this was even happening.

I didn’t, of course. He released me; I straightened, and he nodded, squeezing my shoulder before leading me back through the yard. A few soldiers paused to salute as we passed before returning to whatever it was they were doing—chatting, cleaning their leathers or weapons, or what have you. Many of them had to have seen the intimate moment that had just passed between the two of us, but they didn’t seem to care. Of course, they all knew who I was by now, and it finally dawned on me that no one was going to be surprised by the sight of the king holding and kissing his betrothed. I felt silly now for even being surprised by their indifference.

At least this time no one shouted at me or made any other sort of insult against the king. I suppose our soldiers must have set the first poor fellow straight. But I’d almost rather face a dozen hecklers than a roomful of scheming nobles—particularly since there was a fairly high chance that one of those nobles had had a man killed last night.

It was a sobering thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically not a short chapter, but to me it _feels_ short. It's kind of a necessary transitional chapter, so bear with me ♡
> 
> Also, I had originally written that Casien rested his _chin_ on Ulfric's shoulder, but then I thought - wait, is he too short for that? Fortunately, this site came to my rescue:
> 
> https://www.mrinitialman.com/OddsEnds/Sizes/sizes.html
> 
> Yes, he is, in fact, too short to rest his chin on his lover's shoulder xD Pfft 💖


	16. Chapter 16

The mood in the council room was understandably subdued.

The room felt fraught with tension, despite the fact that most of the holds’ leadership had already been decided. Only Morthal and Solitude remained. The number of chairs around the table had diminished so that those two sections now looked almost ludicrously full, for there were still many from both holds who felt they had a chance at becoming jarl—and, apparently, learning about the presumed murder of a former supplicant did not diminish their eagerness.

Today we were to begin discussing Solitude. For the first time, I began to really study those who now sat with that hold’s contingent.

I had been curious about the man with the close-cropped red hair and full beard since the first day of the moot. His name was Falk Firebeard, and I knew from my chart Ulfric had drawn for me that he had been very closely connected with the previous jarl, yet this somehow had not barred him from attending. Though he seemed oblivious to the contempt many at the table clearly had for him, I suspected he wasn’t impervious to their insults entirely. He obviously still cared for the former jarl a great deal.

Erikur I had met my second evening here, and my first impressions proved apt. He was the type of man who had an overly high opinion of himself, and one who was all too happy to look down upon those he felt were beneath him. Elves in particular he seemed to feel had been personally designed by the gods to serve him and those like him. He had an elven servant, Melaran, who had accompanied him here—to do gods knew what, for I understood Melaran also assisted him in his business affairs, so it would have made more sense for him to have remained in Solitude, or so I thought.

Erikur had a sister, Gisli, and I knew from speaking with Ulfric that _she_ , not her brother, was Laila’s pick for jarl. Gisli’s business acumen was far sharper than her brother’s, and her ties with many of the noble families of Solitude were stronger. Where her brother was boastful and condescending, she was haughty and sharp with her words, but she had a grasp of diplomacy her brother clearly lacked. She was clever and ruthless in her business practices, and this was likely why Laila preferred her—likely the two had struck some sort of trade deal.

Bryling was a dark-haired, middle-aged woman who had worn a thoughtful, steady expression throughout most of the moot proceedings. She rarely spoke up, but when she did, I could see that she was intelligent and careful with her words. She also clearly had born no love for the Imperials but felt that the Stormcloaks had had no chance against them and that the rebellion risked angering the Dominion. I felt the other jarls could have easily compromised and settled the throne in Bryling’s favor, but she was adamant in her refusal of the job. Curiously, she sat beside Falk, and the pair seemed to be very close companions—perhaps even more than companions, but I was now awfully wary of speculating about such things.

There were few others of real merit. Bolgeir Bearclaw was the former housecarl of Jarl Elisif and was supposedly favored by Skald, but I don’t think even he thought he had a chance of being made jarl. Several other nobles, generals, and high-ranking merchants crowded that side of the table, but I think each of them knew that they, too, had very little chance at being selected. I suspected most were simply waiting to ingratiate themselves towards the new jarl.

“Thank you all for returning here this morning,” Ulfric began, once everyone had resumed their places. The cordially of his greeting took me by such surprise that I nearly dropped the water goblet I was now nervously sipping.

Today I was the lone figure beside him, for Galmar and Ania had stayed downstairs, presumably to assist the Whiterun guard—or, if the guard refused assistance, conduct their own investigation. It was not a little bit terrifying, knowing I was potentially the only thing that stood between my lover’s volatile temper and a roomful of nobles who seemed designed by the Nine to stoke his ire. I also didn’t like the way many of them stared at me, which they seemed to be doing now more than ever, now that I was the only one at Ulfric’s side.

“For the time being,” the king continued, “we must strike from our heads and hearts the tragedy which has afflicted Jarl Olfina’s family. Instead, we must focus on what is best for Skyrim. Today we begin discussions regarding the future of Solitude.”

He looked out towards the group gathered behind that city’s placard.

“Who are the candidates for jarl of Haafingar Hold?”

“I am, my lord,” said Erikur, sounding so eager I almost wondered if he thought he’d receive approval for speaking up first.

“As am I,” said his sister, flashing him a disgusted look.

“And I,” said Bolgeir, nodding towards Skald. He didn’t sound very confident, and I think his stated candidacy was announced merely to show gratitude towards the old jarl. I suspected there must be some connection between their families—perhaps Skald had fought with an aunt or uncle of his in the Great War.

“No others?” prompted Laila, when the rest remained silent. “Well, Bryling, do you still maintain your refusal to even be considered?”

“I do, my lady,” replied Bryling. “But…” and she glanced meaningful at Falk, who sat beside her and returned her look with a none-too-happy one of his own. “I do believe there is one more candidate.”

Finally, he sighed and shifted, uncrossing his arms over his broad chest and raising one hand in the air, nodding.

“Very well,” said Ulfric. “We recognize the candidacy of Erikur, Gisli, Bolgeir Bearclaw, and Falk Firebeard, all of Solitude.

“ _One_ of those names ought to be rejected on association alone!” spat the newly crowned Jarl Dengeir, who now seemed impervious to his brother’s imploring looks.

“Your objections are noted, Jarl Dengeir,” said Laila, sounding bored.

“Jarl Laila, Jarl Ulfric,” said Thongvar, suddenly speaking up. “I beg you forgive the interruption. But… I, too, would know why this man,” and he nodded with narrowed eyes across the table towards Falk, “is here in Whiterun, where he now has the audacity to seek the throne.”

“I do not seek the throne,” replied Falk, arms crossed over his chest again. “Nor have I ever. I am here at the… _bequest_ … of another.”

Low murmurs of surprise began to ripple across the table, and though I remained silent, I shared their curiosity. However, I knew my lover well enough by now to not be entirely surprised by what followed afterward.

“Whose?” prodded Thongvar. “Who would insist that Jarl Elisif’s most trusted servant put himself up for jarl?”

“I did,” said Ulfric.

The murmurs crescendoed into exclamations of shock. Erikur in particular looked stunned, for he had to know that Laila favored his sister. And to learn that the future High King, the only one here who rivaled her in influence, favored Falk—it must have left him feeling as if his own chances had just become awfully slim.

I caught him narrowing his eyes at _me_ for some reason, and the cold calculation in the look he was giving me almost made me flinch. But he quickly shifted his gaze, once he noticed me looking back.

“He was no servant,” said Bryling, her steady voice rising over the hum of voices still buzzing about the room. When they quieted down, her angry gaze still remained focused on Thongvar. “Pardon me, _my lord_. But _you_ were not there. Elisif was young, and frightened, and grieving over the mur—the loss of her husband. Who do you think stood by her side and helped her through it all? Who do you think made all the important decisions regarding the day-to-day running of the city? It wasn’t that poor slip of a girl who hadn’t a politically-oriented thought in her pretty head. And it certainly wasn’t that scheming pair of snakes over there!”

Erikur’s eyes widened at the epithet, while Gisli’s narrowed.

“It was Falk,” Bryling continued, and just as her voice seemed to be strengthening with righteous indignation, it softened, as did her gaze, as she looked at the man she spoke of. “If you ask me, there couldn’t be anyone more qualified to run Haafingar Hold than the man who’s _been_ running it.”

“That is nicely said,” said Korir, narrowing his eyes at her. “But being jarl encompasses more than the mere day-to-day running of the hold.”

“Perhaps,” said Olfina, surprising some of the others. I think most expected her to remain silent today. “But… we shouldn’t disregard such experience. I should think successfully running an entire hold for years on end before, during, and after a war ought to count for something.”

“Only if it were true!” snapped Erikur. “So you’re all just going to sit here and trust Bryling at her word? Of course she’d say such things. He warms her bed at night, and in return she warms your ears with lies!”

“I tell no lies,” said Bryling. “And who I sleep with is no one’s business but my own!”

“It is rather our business if you happen to be sleeping with the next jarl of Solitude,” said Laila.

I could see that Erikur’s pronouncement had surprised her. I resisted the urge to give myself a pat on the back. I was getting amazingly good at that sort of thing, though I couldn’t help wondering if Ulfric already knew.

He had been characteristically silent throughout most of this, of course. It was amazing to watch them all bicker and preen and shout, and not a word of it seemed to affect his composure in the slightest. Laila displayed similar peace of mind, though she seemed unable to resist commenting here or there.

“…and who’s to say she isn’t scheming for something?” someone shouted above the din, and this naturally resulted in even more petty bickering.

I watched them both: Falk Firebeard and Bryling. They sat beside one another, faces composed. But his was slightly red under his equally red beard, and her lips were pressed white, her arms folded tightly over her chest. They were refusing to look at one another, but it did absolutely nothing to absolve the intimacy between them that now seemed entirely obvious to me.

I decided it was time for someone to stand up for them. Literally.

The angry voices immediately quieted down, as they all paused and blinked up at me.

I smiled.

“Sorry,” I said. “But you all seem to go quiet when I stand up. So I thought I’d try it again.”

They were silent for a few more seconds. Then a few faces broke into sheepish smiles, and faint laughter rippled over the table.

I took a quick breath.

“Can I ask if anyone has any real objections to Bryling being the wife of a jarl?”

Surprised looks, and a few started to open their mouths, but I decided to keep going before they could get a chance to say anything just yet.

“You see, I happen to know a little about being accused of sleeping with the jarl.”

I looked at Bryling, smiling a little.

“It can feel like an accusation at first. But mostly it’s because people don’t know you. They think you’re doing it for the power, or maybe he’s the one doing it for power. But after a while, people sort of get used to it, and they get used to you, and they even start to kind of like you, even if you’re a lot shorter than them and have rather pointy ears.”

I looked out at the others.

“But Bryling doesn’t seem to have pointy ears, at least as far as I can tell. The people of Windhelm accept me because they know me. I assume the people of Solitude know Bryling, and if they didn’t like her, some of us would probably know about it, and why. But if that isn’t the case, and she herself isn’t up for jarl—then I don’t see why she is any more relevant to this discussion than myself, Jon, or Lady Thaena.”

I sat down again, refusing to look in the direction of my future spouse. That proud look of his always made me blush, and I really didn’t want to do that in front of all these people. Meanwhile, Bryling and Falk both seemed to relax, and even managed to exchange a look and a little smile.

“So wise and yet still so young,” said Laila, cutting through the murmurs which had arisen after my little speech. She smiled at me, and I smiled back, because she was an extremely powerful woman, and I wasn’t an idiot.

“Naturally, I heartily concur,” she continued. “Bryling is not a candidate for jarl. Does anyone have any _reasonable_ excuse to reject one of the candidates here solely on account of something _she_ has said or done?”

She waited, for an exaggeratedly long time, but no one said anything. Oh, there were a few sour faces and crossed arms, but evidently no one felt brave or confident enough to try and argue their case.

The morning dragged on. Lunchtime came and went; because we had started late today, it was decided that lunch would be served here, and we would continue the discussion for a few more hours. It quickly became evident that the jarls were split between Falk and Gisli, though Dengeir insisted on piping up to question Erikur on occasion, likely just to annoy both Ulfric and Laila. Skald had apparently resigned himself to not winning anyone over to Bolgeir’s side. He and Korir appeared to support Ulfric—for political reasons, I had little doubt, for they clearly bore Falk no love—while Thongvar seemed to be siding with Laila. I couldn’t help wondering if Laila had at some point reached out to the new jarl of Markath. Markath and Solitude were rather close, after all, and the promise of a lucrative trade deal would have easily won over the current patriarch of the septum-hungry Silver-blood family.

“I simply do not see how we can be asked to support the former steward of High Queen Elisif!” Thongvar was saying now, and I do believe he was adding a bit of theatrics to the display, waving his hand dismissively towards Falk and leaning back into his chair as he spoke. I glanced at Laila, but her expression was as noncommittal as ever.

“Yet I believe we must be at a standstill if we cannot support a candidate who did not openly support the Empire,” said Olfina, her brow furrowed thoughtfully. “For—correct me if I’m wrong—but Bolgeir was her housecarl, and both Erikur and Gisli were her thanes.”

“Exactly,” said Skald. “And both liked to praise their overlords well enough in the letters they exchanged with my people in Dawnstar. ‘Emperor’s bootlicker,’ they used to call that one,” he snorted, nodding at Erikur.

Both siblings stiffened.

“I did what was best for Solitude,” said Erikur.

“You did what was best for your pocketbook,” snapped Gisli.

“ _Our_ pocketbook, dear sister. And you!”  He sneered at Olfina. “You accuse me of loving the Empire, when the jarls practically handed you the crown based solely on who you were sleeping with! A Battle-Born boy, scion of Whiterun’s largest and most influential pro-Empire family!”

“I love Jon,” said Olfina, tilting her head proudly, “Not because he is a Battle-Born, nor in spite of it. I love him for him. Just as I love Whiterun.”

Beside her, Jon had gone quite red, and I tried not to smile at the sight. I glanced at my lover, but he wasn’t looking at me. I gave his foot a couple light, teasing little taps with mine under the table. His mouth twitched.

“Charming,” said Laila, making no effort, as usual, to hide her smile.

“But ultimately not relevant,” said Ulfric, finally speaking up again. “Falk Firebeard. The shadows grow low across our backs; we are all weary, and some have had a more trying day than others.” That was for Olfina’s benefit, and she lowered her eyes, Jon reaching out to take her hand automatically. “Tell me now why you continue to refuse to support your own candidacy.”

Falk seemed to start at the accusation.

“I do nothing of the sort,” he replied.

“Then your reticence during this discussion is due to what—modesty? A bashful disposition? You speak only when spoken to and do nothing to forward your own case. Yet you sit here beside a bodyguard and a pair of merchants as if you think yourself their equal.”

Erikur and Gisli gasped at the effrontery, and Laila narrowed her eyes. But he wasn’t finished.

“Well?” he asked. “Tell me. Do you think yourself their equal?”

“I am neither above nor below any man or woman here,” came the stubborn reply. “I can only be myself, _Jarl_ Ulfric.”

“A magnanimous response. Some would consider it a noble one.”

“People may think of me as they like.”

“Stop dancing around my words,” said Ulfric, sitting suddenly forward and startling even me. “You are a warrior, not a peacock. Answer me honestly. _You_ have been running the hold—no one else. Therefore _you_ are the best choice. Do you agree.”

“I do not!” came the angry reply. “I am no king, Ulfric Stormcloak. Not like you. I do not raise armies and wage wars against my neighbors. I do not challenge a boy king to a duel I know he cannot win!”

“I did not ask you if you were like me. I asked you to deny that you are fit to be jarl of Haafingar.”

I watched as the red-headed man sat back, his jaw tightening and grinding beneath his beard.

“You phrase your question in such a way that I cannot deny it,” he finally replied.

“The people of Solitude love you. They will follow you. They will support you.” Ulfric sat back in his chair, hand on his chin as he gazed across the table at the other man. “I know. I was there.”

“Then you know how much they hate _you_ ,” spat the other man. “You who killed their beloved king. Yes, the people love Elisif, and therefore if they love me by default, then so be it. But that will change when they learn that their jarl was hand-picked by the man they hate most in this world!”

“Then the solution to me seems clear. You give them back their queen. You set Elisif at your side and you marry her.”

There was a collective, audible gasp around the room, and beside Falk, Bryling went almost white. She glanced at Falk, but his own expression had darkened, the muscles of his arms crossed over his chest bunching slightly, his hands curling into fists.

“If your lover objects,” continued Ulfric. “you can assure her that such marriages are common in politics. It should not affect your relationship.”

A few tense moments of silence passed before Falk responded. The rest of the room seemed to be watching the conversation unfold with bated breath.

“Elisif,” he said, his teeth seeming to grind the words together before releasing, “is like a daughter to me. When her noble parents died tragically, I stepped in to raise her. I honor and respect my former queen, but in my eyes she will always be the child I once knew. And I do not marry children, Jarl Ulfric.” His stormy eyes flicked towards me. “Unlike some.”

My heart thudded in my chest. I opened my mouth on instinct, but I felt the king lay a hand on my knee. My breath stuttered in my throat, and I closed my mouth again, glancing at him. He shook his head.

“My apologies,” said Ulfric, likely surprising nearly everyone in the room. “I would not have suggested it had I known.”

The silent tension lasted only seconds but seemed to stretch for hours before Falk finally nodded, giving one tense jerk of his head. After a moment, his stiffened shoulders seemed to relax, and the expression on his face changed—he almost seemed ashamed.

“I… offer my apologies as well,” he said, but he wasn’t looking at Ulfric.

He was looking at me.

“I am sorry, Lord Casien,” he said, and I could feel the blush blooming on my cheeks, both at the apology from such a man as well as the gracious form of address I surely did not deserve. “I truly meant no offense.”

I nodded back, not trusting my voice.

The conversation resumed, albeit hesitantly at first. But we were nearing dinnertime, and several eventually suggested that we conclude for the day. Ulfric agreed, and we all rose to our feet. I felt the familiar, heavy feel of my lover’s hand on my back as we made for the main door. My eyes met Eleanor’s on the way out; she returned my look, her own eyes as big as saucers. We surely had a lot to say to one another after everything that had happened, but it didn’t seem likely that we would get a chance to meet anytime soon.

Back in our room, I pulled away from my lover, scrubbing my hands through my hair and letting out a huge breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. I walked up to the window near the desk and pushed it open, nearly sagging against the wall as I let the cool air push against my face.

“That was exhausting,” I said, closing my eyes for a moment as I leaned against the smooth, wood wall. I briefly missed the cold stone of the Palace of the Kings and almost smiled at the irony of it.

“Yes,” came the distracted reply.

I glanced back, and, of course, a pile of notes and letters had been delivered to the desk. The king rubbed his eyes before diligently sitting down and beginning to shuffle through them. I recognized Lia’s neat hand on the first as he unfolded it: an update, hopefully all positive, on the goings-on back home.

I moved away from the window to sit down on one bare corner of the desk.

“I wonder where Galmar is,” I said. “I wonder if he’s learned anything.”

“Doubtless he will be here soon. We will learn then.”

I nodded and watched him as he read.

Blessed Azura, how I loved him. My eyes almost began to sting at the thought of it, and I had to hastily chase the feeling away before it overwhelmed me. I thought of the terrible conversation that had taken place today between him and Falk—how diametrically opposed to my own feelings were the people of Solitude’s. My lover, the traitor, the killer of kings. And in his grief and in his rage, Falk Firebeard had lashed out. I knew this, and yet his words stung nonetheless, as did my lover’s refusal to let me respond. True, Falk had apologized, but it was a window into how other people saw me, saw my relationship with the king.

I swallowed, and suddenly felt his gaze upon me. I looked up and met his eyes.

He reached out, taking one of my hands.

“You are upset,” he said. “And I believe I can guess as to why.”

I pulled my hand from his, sliding off the desk and going to stand by the window again. I don’t know why, but I felt suddenly nervous, anxious. I folded my arms over my chest as I gazed out at the city below.

“Can you?” I asked. “Then tell me: is that how people see me? See us? That you’re marrying a child…”

I heard him shift, the wooden chair he sat in creaking, and closed my eyes. I was little surprised by the pair of arms that soon gently enfolded me from behind.

“Some may think that, yes,” he said, his lips close to my ear. He kissed my temple and nuzzled me with his cheek. His beard itched my skin, and I almost smiled.

“I confess I well knew how close Elisif was to Falk,” he continued. “I needed to push him, to make him see how absurd his reservations are. I did not know he would retaliate as he did, but I suppose I should have expected it. I am sorry his words hurt you.”

“And how are we different?” I asked, feeling almost sick to my stomach. “Is there something wrong with me for loving you? Are we really so disgusting?”

“No, little roebuck. You are no child. You are my equal in every way.”

I couldn’t help smiling at that.

“Not _every_ way, surely,” I said. I finally relaxed a little, allowing myself to lean back against him. I looked up, our eyes meeting. “You’re a bit better with a sword, I think.”

“A bit,” he agreed, smiling back.

He sighed, releasing me, but only so he could come to sit down on the windowsill in front of me. He retook my hand, holding it in both of his. He looked down at it, thumbs stroking the top of my hand, which looked so small, nestled between his own.

He seemed to need a moment to collect his thoughts.

“Falk watched Elisif grow up,” he finally said. “He has known her since she was a girl. She will always be as a daughter to him. Just as Galmar’s daughters will always be his children, even when the youngest are women grown and have children and spouses of their own. A child is not defined by age but by love and experience. You could say the same for a relationship.”

“That it’s defined by its experiences?”

“Yes. And I have only ever seen you as a beautiful young man who somehow, by the luck of the gods, found himself in my court.”

“I was only seventeen when I first saw you, you know.”

I was trying furiously hard not to blush at being called _beautiful_. He really could be so ridiculous sometimes.

He laughed, a bit sheepishly, it must be admitted.

“Were you indeed. Well, that was quite some time ago. But true, you were just a boy then. But you are not a boy any longer.”

“No,” I admitted, “Though being a boy wasn’t all that bad. I never had to worry about anything really serious, like, oh, maybe saying the wrong thing at a meeting and causing the next civil war.”

“There will be no more war,” he assured me, squeezing my hand. “Not for many years, at least. I assure you. And Casien…” I looked down into his blue eyes. “Falk said what he said not to hurt you but to hurt me. He had no other aim and knew well there was no truth to his words. He and all the others have seen you for many days now. You neither look, sound, nor act like a child. Therefore, when he realized what he’d done, how his words had wrongfully wounded you, he apologized.” He snorted. “I daresay he respects you far more than he respects me.”

“He hates you,” I said bluntly.

I couldn’t help it. It was hard not to think about what my lover had done before we’d met. Yes, it was the Nord way, but—I don’t know. It was difficult to process.

“He does. But he also understands our ways and why I did what I did. He respects the old ways, even if he does not respect me. And he will make a good jarl.”

“Like you,” I said.

I reached up, cupping his face with my hands, my thumbs stroking softly through his beard. He had been the most handsome man I’d ever seen in my young life when I’d first stumbled into him. He remained so today, even now that I was supposedly his equal in life, and he was to be my husband.

I kissed him. I imagine we gave quite a show to anyone who may have had sharp enough eyes from down below. We probably would have done more than kiss, and made our way eventually to the bed, had Galmar not knocked not long afterward.

There was no news of any real significance. So far the guard could not find any physical evidence of anyone having broken into Vignar’s room. His wife had spent the evening in town with her sister and had not been present. Of course, neither the door nor the window had been locked, and I once again felt a sharp pang that we had not shared our foreknowledge about the potential assassins. But there had been no signs of a struggle, and no one had reported seeing anyone suspicious. Even so, the castle was currently bursting with occupants, and it was surely impossible to keep track of who belonged with whom.

I dreaded dinner and was right to do so. I sat with my lover, as I now did regularly, but so did Ania and Hellina, and Una and her father. The other holds had also grouped together, talking mostly amongst themselves. Vignar’s death hovered over the entire castle, and people were even more suspicious of one another than before. I never saw Falk at dinner, but Erikur and Gisli seemed to be renewing their candidacies with vigor, chatting as amiably as possible with nearly every person of import whose ear they managed to reach. It was exhausting, as was Dengeir’s obsessive paranoia, and Korir’s wife’s repeated bouts of hysteria, and the snide comments of Laila’s youngest son, and all the other eccentricities the most powerful people of Skyrim somehow managed to dredge up. The thought of eventually flinging myself, exhausted, into the warm embrace of my bed was the only thing that kept me going throughout.

Later that night, I lay awake beside my gently snoring lover, staring up at the ceiling of our room. But I wasn’t seeing the freshly painted beams of wood above me. Instead, my mind was filled with swirling green skies that belched hideous, swirling clouds; of a lake so black and oozing just the thought of it made my skin crawl.

Of rows upon rows of books that literally held every secret known or unknown to man or mer.

I had made a promise—a promise to the person I loved more deeply than anyone else in this world, and it was against my nature to break such a promise. But a man had been murdered, and the simple truth was, either he or I could very well be next. I was not afraid to die—no more so than any sane person would be—but the thought of how my death would affect my lover filled me with such horror that at times I could scarcely breathe. And yet I would lie here, using a promise as a shield, because I was too terrified to do what I knew needed to be done.

I took a deep, quiet breath before carefully pushing the covers back and getting to my feet.

I was no fool. As silently as possible, I dressed, pulling on my sturdiest gambeson and strapping on my weapons as well. With luck, none of it would be needed. Once I had the information I needed—the identity of the assassin—I knew the way out. It was a straight line through the seeming maze of books, and as for the reappearance of the lurking dark creature, I had merely to keep my wits about me. Should I see it approaching, I would simply hide as we had last time and wait for it to pass.

The guard at our door looked startled out of her boots to see me.

“Good evening,” I said, flashing her a bright smile as I closed the door softly behind me.

I started to hurry down the hallway.

“Wait!” she cried.

I turned back around.

She blinked, her hand resting unconsciously on her sword hilt.

“You can’t—I mean, the jarl said—”

“I’m going to visit my friends,” I said. “I don’t belong to the jarl, you know, even if we are going to be married. I’m my own person. You can follow me if you want.”

She hesitated again before giving a jerky nod, apparently deciding that this was the best course of action. I luckily knew that if I just kept walking west I would eventually encounter the Winterhold wing and didn’t have to stress myself out navigating the rest of the castle—I’d just hit the outermost wall and be forced to turn either right or left. Once there, I was able to more easily recognize my surroundings, and knew which room was Eleanor’s and Brelyna’s.

“You can wait outside,” I said to the guard. “I won’t be long.”

A bit of a lie, but, well.

She nodded.

“Yes, my lord.”

The room was dark and relatively quiet. Relatively, because once I paused and acclimated to the darkness, I picked up on the low, steady sounds of snoring from nearly every corner of the room. I saw two figures in the bed, but one of them had blond hair—Hanna, I deduced, with Eleanor beside her. I saw more bodies slumbering about, one on the couch, a few others on the floor, buried under blankets and pillows. There was Brelyna, and, I think, Ysme—and was that Una?

I resisted the urge to snort. Amid all the chaos and fear of today, my friends had decided to have what looked like a girls’ night. I well imagined they could use it. How drunk had they gotten?

I pushed the amusing thought from my head and instead crept to where Eleanor had said she’d hidden the book. I knelt down beside her trunk and opened it, wincing when it creaked. Then came the uncomfortable task of sorting through her personal belongings to try and find the book itself. But it wasn’t difficult—even now, I could feel the book calling to me, urging me to find it, pull it out, and open it once again.

It was just as heavy as I’d remembered. I sat back, crossing my legs and resting it on my lap. As promised, Eleanor had gotten Brelyna to spell the book shut. But I had taken the same class, and knew the charm well, and besides, it had never been to keep me out anyway. Another promise I was breaking.

For a good reason, I reminded myself. The _only_ reason worth breaking my promise for, really. Once I had broken the enchantment, I steadied myself, taking three deep breaths before placing my hand on the front of the book. I pressed my lips together and, without allowing myself to hesitate further, opened the book.

Nothingness.

Then sensation returning, all in a rush, just as it had before. I landed in the same position, sitting down, my rear connecting painfully with the hard stone beneath. I blinked. There was the same green sky, the same rows of books, the same black ooze. But something was different.

No, _everything_ was different.

This was not where the book had sent us the first time.

I was officially lost in the Apocrypha.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Casien. NO.
> 
> /sigh


	17. Chapter 17

My first instinct was to panic.

I had worked myself into believing that this was something I had to do—that if I _didn’t_ do this, I would be failing the people most dear to me, for if I had the ability to identify Vignar’s killer or killers and potentially prevent them from striking again, I _had_ to exercise that ability. It was high time I stopped being the one everyone went out of their way to protect. Poor, helpless, little Casien—that was how they all saw me, and I was determined to prove them wrong. For once in my life, I would be the one to protect _them_.

And now “poor, helpless, little Casien” was exactly what I was.

I looked around me, even as I tried to steady my pounding heart. Where I was—it was familiar, and yet _not_ familiar. Green, cloudy skies; oozing, black lakes; stacks and stacks of books; a deathly silence hanging over the entire world like an oppressive mist—this was the Apocrypha. Yet I didn’t recognize a single thing.

Panicking wasn’t going to help. I tried to take a deep breath, failing at first before trying again and succeeding. I closed my eyes for a moment, taking a few more steadying breaths, before reopening them and looking around me.

Most importantly, there was as yet no sign of the dark creature which had passed so close to us the last time we were here. I was out in the open, to some degree, but I could also see all around me, and all around me were nothing but books, books, and more books. I was far enough (or so I hoped) from the nearest shoreline, too, so didn’t have to worry about the tentacles which had attacked Eleanor and Hanna.

So. I was here for a reason, wasn’t I? That much hadn’t changed. Once I had the information I needed, why should my escape be any different? I would simply follow one of the paths until I felt the presence of the Black Book. There was no reason to suspect it wouldn’t appear here, just as it had last time.

I was halfway to my feet, determination finally crippling my fear, when the voice suddenly violated my head.

**_AH. CASIEN YEDLIN_.**

I fell back down, panic reclaiming its grip around my heart.

I waited for it to say something else. But it didn’t. I sat there for what felt like an eternity, my shaking palms pressing into the cold, gravelly stone beneath me. Finally, I made myself breathe in deeply, and, pausing to wipe my hands against my trousers, got to my feet.

_Find the book_ , I thought, as I made my way determinedly down the path and towards the nearest cluster of bookshelves. All I had to do was find the book that would tell me who Vignar’s killer was. Then I could start looking for a way out.

The books were before me now. Hundreds of them, maybe thousands. The stacks upon stacks of them created three diverging pathways, but I wasn’t interested in going anywhere just yet. Instead I stopped where I was, closed my eyes, and steadied my breathing.

Last time I had been thinking of my aunt and uncle.

This time… I thought furiously of the two voices I had heard conversing in a dark corner of Dragonsreach. I remembered the fear and alarm I’d felt when I first realized what they were discussing, how they could bring harm to the person I loved most. Now, I thought, holding on to the feeling blossoming in my chest, I was going to make sure they never could.

Slowly, I knelt down before one of the bookshelves and opened my eyes.

The book was taller, thicker than those surrounding it. Gradually, the rest seemed to fade away into obscurity, yet this book seemed to pulse a dark, familiar shade of blue, even as all the other colors around it faded to gray.

I reached for it, needing two hands to pull it forward and into my lap.

The gold-embossed letters on the cover flashed before my eyes: _Obsession_. Beneath the words lay the familiar outline of a great bear’s head.

I took a deep, steadying breath and opened the book.

//

Two Nord men stood on opposite sides of a large table. The table sat in the very center of the room and bore a detailed map of Skyrim on its surface. Little figurines stood atop it, representing various factions and armies and strongholds. They were alone, but perhaps they had just dismissed the other generals yet had chosen to linger here. One man was saying something about the supply line between this and that camp, and he paused, crossing his arms and glaring down at the map as if it would whisper the answer to his problem.

Across from him, the other man stood slightly aloof, arms half-crossed, one hand resting over his mouth. He was watching his companion, and seemed to be waiting for a moment of silence to fall between them.

His voice when he finally spoke was low, in stark contrast to the other man’s rough way of speaking.

“I kissed him,” he said.

The burlier man with the heavy brown beard looked up from the table and met the eyes of his friend. He looked confused at first—but then his eyes widened, his mouth even falling open slightly. His friend met his gaze steadily, but the fingers of the hand over his mouth seemed to curl unconsciously inward.

Finally, Galmar sighed, pausing to rub his hand over his face for a moment as if he were too tired to deal with this right now.

“ _Who_ did you kiss?” he said, looking for all the world as if he didn’t want to know the answer.

Again, the king met his gaze silently, but only for a moment longer. Then his eyes lowered to the table between them.

Galmar swore.

“First Ania,” he grumbled under his breath. “And now you. _You_!” He sighed again, this time running his fingers through his short, bushy brown hair. “You at least should know better.”

“I mean no disrespect to your daughter, Galmar,” the king finally said. “But I will not have you comparing him to that…” He grimaced and looked away.

“You can say the word,” came the bitter response. “Ania’s whore. Do you know what the worst thing about it is? I actually like the girl. She’s good for Ania. But why did she have to find her in a godsdamned fuckhouse!?”

The king sighed heavily, his eyes briefly closing.

“Galmar…”

Galmar looked up from where he’d been glaring down at the map again. He seemed to take one look at his friend’s face before his own almost fell, his eyes widening in apparent alarm.

“Talos’ stinking ass,” he breathed. “You’re fucking in love with him, aren’t you?”

The king remained silent.

Galmar shook his head.

“That damned fool heart of yours. After all these fucking years… It’s the same one, isn’t it? The servant? The one you’ve been mooning over all winter? Dark elf boy with the pretty face and the hair…” He made a gesture with his hands at his head, as if it had suddenly sprouted poufy dark hair in every direction.

Ulfric’s lips twitched.

“Oh, find that amusing, do you?” Galmar huffed under his breath. “So what now? We can’t have your head full of pretty boys and pretty kisses when we’ve a war to plan. Our soldiers march as soon as the roads clear and the snow starts turning to mud. I take it you still plan to be at their head.”

“I do.”

“Well then. What do you want _me_ to do about it? I won’t be talking you out of it, I can see that much. If it’s advice you want—Thorig’s beard, I can’t even keep my own daughter in line, let alone advise the next High King of Skyrim on how to bed a servant boy.”

Ulfric seemed to bristle at that.

“I neither seek nor require such advice, old friend. I have no intentions of—”

But his voice came to a halt, and he swallowed, his lips pressing together.

“I want you to train him,” he amended, meeting Galmar’s eyes steadily across the table. “Train him to use a sword. I realize we have little time before we must depart. But teach him as much as you can.”

“I can do that, aye. And I suppose I’m to be gentle with this pretty little whelp of yours.” He grinned. “I take it you’ve not yet trained him to hold _your_ sword.”

Ulfric’s eyes widened, and, of all things, a blush began to creep through his beard.

Galmar threw his head back, laughing.

“I’ll take that to be a no. By the Nine, the things I do for you.” He shook his head, still chuckling. “Don’t you worry. I’ll have the boy in tip-top shape and ready to go by middle of First Seed. He’s a little thing, isn’t he? Might set him up with a short sword and dagger to start.”

“Thank you, Galmar.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I get to tell Lia about this tonight. You’re feuding with the boy, aren’t you? I can see it in your eyes. You could mop a floor with that long face of yours.” He chuckled. “She’ll give you an earful about it.”

At this the king seemed to go almost pale, as if he’d far rather face a horde of angry Thalmor than a stern dressing down from Galmar’s wife.

Galmar’s laugh seemed to echo and bounce against the walls as the memory faded and dissipated.

//

“And I can’t convince you to take him with you?”

Three people sat before a roaring fire, in a sort of pleasant sitting room. The woman was methodically sewing a piece of lace, her fingers moving in rapid precision, even as her eyes glanced up and watched the man sitting across from herself and her husband.

“No,” said the king.

He was leaning forward slightly, resting his elbows on his thighs. His blue eyes were turned golden, his face angled towards the fire.

“May I presume to ask why?” asked Lia.

“Because he’s a great big romantic fool,” said Galmar, who had seemed as if he’d been asleep in his chair, but evidently had not been.

“Because I do not know if I will come back,” came the short response. “Because I will not make a promise I cannot keep. And if that makes me a fool then so be it.”

“It does,” said Galmar. “A great big romantic fool.”

Lia side-eyed her husband. She paused to bring the lace up to her mouth, snapping one of the threads with her teeth.

“That is a very noble sentiment,” she said. “May I ask whether or not your feelings are returned?”

“I…” The king opened his mouth, but then seemed to reconsider. He frowned.

“No, you may not,” he muttered towards the fire.

“So you send him away to Winterhold because you love him. But you will not tell him that you _do_ love him.” She raised her eyebrows, shaking her head. “You would do better to leave him here with me. I should take care of him then, turn him into a proper companion for you.”

His eyes snapped immediately towards hers.

“That would not be required. He is already a proper—”

The sharp retort seemed to die on his tongue, and, amazingly, another blush bloomed beneath his beard.

He groaned then and lowered his face into his hands.

“I do not know what I should do,” he finally said, hands still covering his face.

“So you say. But you will know what to do when you see him again tonight.” He lifted his head, and their eyes met. Her own seemed to soften. “Let Mara guide your lips and your heart, Ulfric.”

“Aye, she’ll guide his lips,” chuckled Galmar, “And his hands, and his—

“That’s enough out of you,” said his wife. “Keep speaking in that vulgar fashion and you’ll be spending your last night here alone.”

“I was going to say toes, woman. Mara guide his toes.”

She snorted, as though trying not to laugh.

“His toes indeed,” she murmured, shaking her head.

The scene faded, dissipating into darkness.

/ /

The heavy sound of rain pelted the outside of the small tent, the feeble lamp at its center flickering and sputtering, as if it were nearly out of oil. Opposite from the tent’s opening sat the king, half-reclining, one elbow against what looked like a heavy traveler’s pack. There was a low, portable table in front of him, the oil lamp sitting at one end. Damp, curling documents littered its surface, but the king pushed them all aside, laying out a fresh piece of parchment and dipping his pen to ink.

He wrote steadily for ten minutes or so, sometimes pausing and seeming to consider his words before continuing.

Eventually, the tent flap was pushed open, and a girl with a heavy, messy brown braid poked her head in.

“Sorry, Uncle,” she said. “But Father sent me to fetch you.”

“Tell him I will join him shortly,” came the absent reply.

After a moment, the girl entered the tent, making sure to secure the flap before sitting down across from her uncle. She was soaking wet, her clothing and armor sticking to her, and she pulled her braid over one shoulder and did her best to wring it out.

“Are you writing to him?” she asked. “Your lover.”

He glanced up at her but didn’t respond.

She sighed.

“I told Hellina I wouldn’t write. I said I wasn’t any good at letter writing. She didn’t seem to mind. But now I almost think I should.”

“If you think you should write, then write.”

“That’s the thing, though. I don’t _know_ if I should. Una’s tired of hearing about it, and I can’t ask Father; he’s about as romantic as a wet boot. Don’t know how Mother even puts up with him, to be honest.” She shrugged. “So I thought I’d ask you.”

“And I am some great expert on love, I suppose.”

“Well, it’s either you or General Hilda, and just between you and me? She scares me a little. And like, not in a good way.”

After a moment, he paused to blow on the letter before folding it carefully then rolling it up so that he could push it inside one of the small mail canisters. This he then slipped inside his pack, to be mailed at a more opportune time, presumably.

Just then, Galmar poked his head in.

“Damn it, girl!” he growled, upon seeing them both. “Is this what fetching him looks like?”

“Uncle was writing a letter, Father.”

“Was he.”

The older man glared at his friend, who seemed to take his anger all in stride.

“That boy has you too distracted. We’re fighting a war here! Or did you forget?”

“I did not.”

Galmar gave him one more menacing look before disappearing with a growl. Ania flashed her uncle a grin before following him, the king pausing to pull on a heavy leather rain cloak before getting to his knees and eventually doing the same.

//

A girl again, this one blond, her hair also in a very messy braid. A smear of blood, presumably not her own, was streaked across one cheek. She was panting as she made her way across the battlefield, stepping over the dead and dying. Not far from where she was, what looked like a massive funeral pyre was being built, some of the bodies already being laid across.

“Where is my father?” she asked, pausing before a group of weary soldiers.

One woman looked up and pointed. The girl nodded and hurried on.

Galmar watched as his second eldest daughter approached him. He handed the map he was examining to one of the other generals, already moving to meet her.

“What is it?” he asked, grabbing her by the shoulder. “Is he…?”

She shook her head quickly.

“No, he’s… The healer’s still concerned, but she’s hopeful. It’s just, he keeps seeing…” She glanced at the others before lowering her voice. “He’s seeing things, Father. Seeing… _him_.”

Galmar’s face seemed to almost turn to stone.

“Blasted distraction,” he muttered through his teeth.

Una nodded.

“He’s upset. He wanted me to take him back home. The young man, the one he’s… only I tried to tell him that he wasn’t here, but he wouldn’t believe me. And he grew upset, and tried to move. I didn’t know what to do.”

Galmar closed his eyes for a second before looking at his daughter. He nodded then and gave her shoulder a squeeze before releasing her.

“You did the right thing.” He glanced at the others before adding. “Don’t worry, girl. I’ll see to him.”

He turned then and retraced his daughter’s steps, his long stride taking him back across the battlefield. Soldiers saluted, but he didn’t appear to see them, his mouth pressed into a grim line, his eyes focused on the large tent ahead.

He nodded at the two soldiers guarding the tent before pushing the flap open and ducking to enter.

“Galmar!”

The king’s panting voice stung his ears—it reminded him far too much of the same panicked, rasping voice, crying out in the night from a body wracked with nightmares, suffered by a then young king still physically weak from months of torture at the hands of the Thalmor.

He hurried to kneel beside his friend, taking his hand.

“Yes,” he said, squeezing the hand in his. “I’m here.”

“Galmar,” the king repeated, feverish eyes meeting his own. “I saw him. My heart, my…” He closed his eyes and seemed to shudder. “Please, you must… you must take him from this place. He should not be here!”

“He isn’t here,” said Galmar. He kept his voice low and steady and calm. “You sent him to Winterhold. You sent him there to be safe, remember? So that’s where he is, safe as can be.”

“He isn’t here?” The king’s brow furrowed. “But I saw him…”

He closed his eyes, then, and lay back against the blankets.

“An illusion… some form of magic? Our enemies seek to deceive me even now…”

“Not magic,” said Galmar. “It’s the fever, lad. You’re laid up, remember? Took a nice sharp blade to the belly and another to the leg. Infection’s gone in. But the healer’s say—

“A fever!” He lay his free hand over his forehead as if he could feel it himself and grimaced. “Yes… Nine above. What a fool you must think me.”

“Never. Foolish in love, but nothing worse than that, I’d wager.”

The king smiled a little, then grimaced again, a chill wracking his body. He still hadn’t removed the arm lying over his forehead. He closed his eyes.

“I must write to him,” he said softly. “I need to tell him…” 

He pulled his other hand free and seemed to suddenly decide to sit up, as if he were bound and determined to fetch his pen and parchment, wherever they might be. The movement naturally stretched the deep wound just below his ribs, making him grunt and even shudder from the pain, causing a fresh bit of red to seep through the bindings around his middle.

“You’re not going anywhere, you big fool,” said Galmar, pushing him back down.

The king glared at him.

“Fetch me a piece of parchment, and a pen.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea? When you’re half-sick with fever and—

“It was not a question,” came the angry reply. “Fetch me my pen and parchment. And promise me you will send the letter as soon as I have finished.” He held his friend’s eyes with his own. “Promise!”

Galmar sighed.

“I promise,” he said.

//

Nine shrines stood against the backdrop of immense floor to ceiling windows. Eight looked as if they had been there for some time. But even in the low lighting, the ninth looked new, the dark stone polished lovingly.

A man knelt before one of the shrines. Not the new one—one of the eight. It was shaped in the form of an intricate cross, a woman’s head set within the center of the cross. The man knelt on the hard stone floor, his head bowed, his hands folded before him.

A priest stood nearby and watched him from the shadows. After a while, he finally grimaced and came forward.

He seemed to gather himself before schooling his features into placidity.

“You pray to Mara, my child,” he said. “What would you ask of her?”

The kneeling man was silent for a long time. Then, without lifting his head, he finally spoke:

“I wish to purchase an amulet of Mara.”

The priest seemed taken aback.

“An amulet of Mara?” His face contorted in a show of hatred and revulsion he couldn’t quite hide. “ _You_?”

The king finally looked up him. After a moment, he placed a hand on his thigh, bracing himself and grimacing slightly as he rose from his knees. He now towered over the priest, but did not seem to be attempting to intimidate him. Instead, he reached into one of his pockets and pulled out two gold coins. These he offered to the priest, his eyes meeting and holding the other man’s.

The priest pressed his lips together, but eventually, he took the coins. Then he turned and left.

The king waited.

Five minutes later, the priest reappeared. He offered his hand to the taller man, opening his palm and revealing an amulet, formed in the same shape as the shrine, though the woman’s head was now a pale blue stone. The king gazed down at it for a moment before reaching for it. His hand hovered, fingers seeming to tremble, before he took it and looped it over his neck.

The priest bowed his head.

“Blessings of Mara be upon you,” he said.

The king nodded.

//

The sun appeared to have just finished sinking behind the tall, stone battlements of the strange city when the king emerged from the temple. He stood in the busy courtyard for a moment, his hand rising up to rest over the amulet which now lay over his tunic. Soldiers glanced at him, some saluting smartly, but most seemed to be aware that his thoughts were miles away.

“There you are!”

Galmar strode forward, a frown on his stern face.

“They told me you’d gone to the temple, but I couldn’t quite believe it. Paying your respects to the fruits of your labor, I suppose?” He snorted. “Doesn’t seem like you. But I guess you’ve earned—

He halted abruptly, his eyes falling to the amulet which lay prominently over the king’s chest.

He was silent for a long moment, then:

“Is that,” he asked slowly, all amusement drained from his rough voice, “a fucking amulet of Mara.”

He raised his eyes again, meeting his friend’s. Ulfric met his gaze steadily.

Galmar took a step closer, their faces so close now they could probably make out the specks in one another’s eyes even in the low lighting.

“You want to marry a boy,” he said, keeping his voice low, “you’ve only fucked once and haven’t seen in half a year? A boy who’s nearly half your age, I might add. _And_ an elf. And a _servant_.”

Ulfric closed his eye briefly and seemed to take a slow, deep breath.

“If he should reject me…” He opened his eyes again. “I don’t know how…”

Galmar snorted.

“Reject you! The boy’s as fucking mad about you as you are about him. Trust me, I had to put up with his godsdamned doe-eyed staring every time you passed by in the yard for two months.” He shook his head, scowling. “Here we are, the liberators of all of Skyrim. And all you can think about are a pair of pretty eyes.”

The king’s lips twitched.

“He does have pretty eyes,” he murmured.

Galmar threw his head back and groaned.

//

The scene was familiar again—the king’s office, sunlight streaming in through the tall window behind his desk. He stood there, hands folded behind his back, gazing at the men who had been lined up before him. They were working-class men, all Nords. Their heads were slightly lowered, their hands in chains, but they glared angrily back at their jarl.

“And this is all of them,” said Ulfric.

“Aye,” said Galmar. “Every last stinking one of them.”

He looked like he wanted to spit merely from being in the same room as them. Ulfric continued to study them, his jaw clenching slightly under his now heavier beard.

These men were familiar.

They had cornered a young Dunmer nearly a year ago. They’d pushed him up against the nearest wall and grabbed him and touched him and threatened him. If he closed his eyes, he could still smell the liquor on their breath. He could still feel the rough touch of their hands. Sometimes his heart still stutters in his chest, and he chastises himself for his weakness. But it wasn’t his fault, what they did, or almost did, to him.

“I should gut them myself,” said the king, his low voice deceptively calm.

“I still say you should,” said Galmar.

But the king shook his head.

“He would never forgive me, were he to learn of it. As it is…”

“He’s out riding with the girls, as planned.”

“Yes…” A faint smile ghosted across his face. “He complained about it this morning.”

He was silent for a moment, his eyes resettling on the men. The smile slipped away, replaced by a hard, cold look.

“For the sake of the man you assaulted—you will not die today. But you are banned from this city. You are banned from Eastmarch hold. When I become High King, you shall be banned from all of Skyrim. Should you choose to return where you are not welcome, death shall await you. Be assured that I shall deliver it to you myself.”

Some of the men looked as if they wanted more than anything to retort back—but they didn’t. They were not slated to die today, and they surely did not wish to push their luck.

The king turned to Galmar.

“Take them through the yard. Keep them chained. Load them up into the wagon as planned. They are to take no belongings. Deliver them on the outskirts of the city, and if any should resist, you have my leave to cut them down like the dogs they are.”

Galmar nodded, pressing fist to chest.

“As you command, my jarl.”

He then nodded at the two guards stationed nearby, who strode forward to round up the men, forcing them towards the exit. Galmar and Ulfric exchanged one more look before the former turned to follow, leaving the king alone in his office.

He seemed to sag slightly, once the door was closed. He lowered his head, his hands coming forward to grip the back of his chair until the knuckles turned white. Again, his jaw clenched.

He remained like that for some time, squeezing the wood until his hands began to tremble. Then, finally, he lowered them, let out a soft, deep breath, and calmly sat back down before his desk, where a great deal of paperwork appeared to be in need of his attention.

//

I gasped for air, as if I’d been holding my breath the entire time I’d been ensnared by the book’s ill-gotten memories. I gazed up at the sickly green sky, blinking back tears that wouldn’t fall.

I had failed.

“This wasn’t what I asked for!!” I shouted at the sky.

I stood up, heaving the heavy blue tome away from me. In a fit of grief and anger, I swept my arm along the nearest shelf, sending the books toppling to the ground. I kicked over another tall, teetering pile. I even ripped out a few pages, balling them up, and hurling them at the sky.

“You KNEW!” I cried. “You _knew_ what I wanted! You knew I just wanted to save him! But you send me these… oh gods…”

I lost my rage all at once, slumping against the nearest bookshelf. The tears fell down my cheeks now, and since I was alone, I didn’t have to hide them. I closed my eyes and tilted my head back, the cry that escaped me now little more than a whimper.

“He’s going to die,” I whispered. “He’s going to die, and it’s all my fault.”

Or perhaps I would die. Or Galmar. Whatever happened, in the end, no one could be said to have fucked up more than I had. And now I was in the Apocrypha, lost, and at the mercy of an amoral god who evidently took perverse delight in showing me memories that I had no right being shown.

Gods, how he loved me. And for so long, and to such a degree, that I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I did not deserve it. I thought of how his hand had trembled as he reached for the amulet of Mara, how I could recall the anxiety written on his stern face when I’d first noticed it at Winterhold. I thought of the letter he’d written me, expressing his doubts and fears. And now I knew he had confessed those same fears to Galmar… Galmar, of whom I was so jealous of late, his dearest friend and confidant, a man who had clearly done all he could to both aid a king in winning a war while at the same time guide his dearest friend towards winning the hand of, it must be admitted, a mere servant boy. His concerns were valid—yet not once did he advise the king to not follow his heart.

I was glad he had not. I rarely thought of status, of how I had risen in the world, for it truly meant very little to me. I did not adorn myself with silks and jewels or expensive leathers and weapons, did not throw lavish parties or spend my days riding well-bred horses. All I wanted were my books, and my friends, and to fall asleep each night in the arms of the man I had fallen in love with. I had never truly cared that he was a king—I suppose at first it had frightened me, but overtime I grew to know him, not as a king but as a man. A man I rather quickly and foolishly fell in love with, for though I had harbored a crush on the king as a boy, it was the man with whom I’d finally fallen in love.

After a while, I opened my eyes. My disturbing, shifting surroundings had remained unchanged. If Hermaeus Mora were angry on account of my outburst, he at present chose not to show it. Perhaps I no longer even held his attention, for he’d had his fun with me. I was no longer interesting, just an elf who’d not only lost his way but now also his purpose.

But no. I sat up, then pulled myself back to my feet. I had a new purpose, and it was to escape this place. Maybe I had failed in coming here—maybe, too, if my absence were discovered, I had damaged my relationship with my intended beyond repair—but I was not going to die here.

I walked forward, to where the “road” split into three separate paths. As of yet, I felt no pull towards the Black Book, so I chose the center path at random. Before going on, however, I used my dagger to rip off a strip of my tunic. This I lay on the ground, setting a book partially on top of it so it wouldn’t be blown away. Now, if anyone passed this way—say, Eleanor and the others, should they wake and see the Book open—they would know where to follow.

I walked for quite some time. There was no sun here, nor were there stars or moons, so I had no way of gauging what hour it was. I also didn’t know if much time had passed while the book had ensnared me with my lover’s memories.

The path never diverged. I began to feel nervous—well, more so than I already was—and to wonder if I’d definitely chosen the wrong way. Surely, by now _some_ thing ought to have happened. I waffled between turning back or continuing forward, but ultimately resolved to do the latter.

And then, finally, I felt it.

The Book called to me in a voice that was at once both sweet and sickening. It was still so far away, only brushing, fingering the edges of my mind. I swallowed, pushing the disturbing feelings aside, and continued onward.

The corridor I followed was narrow. Stacks of books continued to line the walls, but the walls at least were solid, albeit black and oily and foreboding. The path twisted and turned, and as I felt the presence of the Book become stronger in my mind, I perhaps became too eager to reach my destination.

And so it happened that I turned one corner, moving almost at a jog now, my left hand resting on my sword hilt more for comfort than anything—when the corridor abruptly opened up before me.

The room was immense. Large pillars flanked it on all sides, and it was, of course, lined with even more bookshelves. But what caught my attention more than anything were the creatures I saw.

Writhing, hovering masses of gray tentacles, they were clustered near the far end of the room. Some moved at a slow pace, others remained in one spot, each with an open book before it. They made no sound, and did not appear to acknowledge one another let alone communicate. They were also as large, if not larger, than the lurking creature we’d encountered last time.

Luckily, they didn’t appear to have very good eyesight—if they could see at all. I darted behind the nearest pillar as quickly as I could, and crouched down there, waiting to hear sounds of pursuit. But none came. Occasionally, I heard the pages of a book turning.

I waited. At first I dared not look around the pillar, but as time went on, I realized I might be waiting here for hours. No, I didn’t want to test whether the creatures were friendly or not—as if anything in this place _could_ be friendly. But I had to find the exit, and I had to find out how to get to it without alerting the creatures to my presence.

I took a deep breath—then stuck my head out.

There was nothing there.

The room appeared for all intents and purposes to be totally empty, save for the random stacks and stacks of bookshelves. Cautiously, heart in my throat, I rose up from my crouched position and stood up, my hand brushing along the pillar as I moved past it and towards the center of the room.

The creatures, whatever they had been, were simply gone. Every time I stepped around a bookshelf or pillar I expected to run into one, but it didn’t happen. Finally, I decided to stop waiting to be attacked and instead put myself to the task of finding the room’s exit.

After a few minutes, I found it. This corridor was much wider than the one I had first come through, and rather than relieve any lingering feelings of claustrophobia, it only made me _more_ nervous. But the Book’s presence was now even stronger than before, so I swallowed my fear and pressed forward.

Twice more the path diverged, but this time the Book’s presence told me without a doubt which one to take. Again I paused and ripped off a piece of my tunic, laying it on the path I chose so that anyone behind me could follow. The third—and surely final—time the path split, I was perhaps a little too confident, and eager to escape, for I hastily grabbed a book and set it over the scrap of cloth on the ground and rose without thinking, already hurrying forward—

When I nearly ran into _it_.

It must have just lurched from around the next corner, for it certainly hadn’t been there a moment ago. It was just as terrifyingly dark, and tall, and massive as it had been the first time I’d seen it. Only now it was only a few feet away, and there was nothing between myself and it’s horrifyingly long, tentacle like appendages.

I think the only reason I’m alive today is because I startled it nearly as much as it had startled me. I imagine it didn’t exactly encounter many visitors in this place, and save for the sound of my dagger ripping my tunic, I had been very quiet. But now it seemed to get its bearings, and it suddenly crouched low—though its head still towered above me—and gazed down at me, its toothy, circular mouth opening and blasting out a foul-smelling gurgle.

I’m ashamed to say I dropped my dagger. Fear paralyzed me in that split second, so it was thankfully impossible for me to reach for and draw my sword. I say _thankfully_ because there was no way in Oblivion I would have stood a chance against such a creature. The next second, time seemed to speed up again, fear unfroze my limbs, and I turned around and ran back the way I had come.

I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. But the creature _was faster_. I could hear it galloping behind me; I chanced to look back over my shoulder and nearly fainted from the sight of it lurching rapidly towards me, its back hunched and its gangling long claws reaching. It opened its toothy maw and shot out a black ooze; luckily, I ducked and tripped and regained my footing, avoiding the ooze which splattered past me to smack against the wall beside me.

I reentered the massive, pillar-lined rooms. Perhaps I could lose it amongst the bookshelves—the thought a vain one since I knew at this point I likely had only seconds more to live. But oh! The gray, tentacled creatures were back! They made whuffling sounds of alarm as I burst back into the room, and some began to move towards me. My heart felt as if it were going to burst out of my chest at this point. I kept running, but my limbs felt like jelly now, and my ankle twisted under me as I tried to dodge around another stack of books. I fell, hard, my hands pushing out instinctively to break my fall. The cold, black stone scraped against my palms and banged hard against my knees.

I twisted around quickly and gazed up. The black creature had entered the room, too. It made that low, gurgling sound again and lurched towards me. I closed my eyes, my body simultaneously shaking and going abruptly still. I prayed for a quick death.

And then I heard, from behind me, a great, Nord battle cry.

I opened my eyes, watching in shock as three figures leapt past me: my lover, his longsword held aloft, and my two friends, Hanna and Ysme. They met the black creature head on, the king’s sword slicing through its bowed head while Hanna brought her shield up and knocked its swinging claw back. Ysme ducked and rolled, avoiding the strange barrage of energy one of the tentacled creatures hurled at her and then rose quickly, slicing her two swords through its side. It screamed, and flickered, and disappeared—only to reappear on the other side of the room, white, bubbling liquid oozing from its broken tentacles.

“Take him!” roared my lover, even as he brought his sword up again to defend against the black creature. “Find the exit!”

“But you can’t defend against these things forever!” cried Hanna, even as Ysme rushed back to my side.

“TAKE HIM!” said the king, his commanding voice broking no argument.

Now both girls were at my side, hauling me to my feet and dragging me away from the battle. They had to half-carry me at first, then I began to struggle.

“We can’t leave him!” I said, reaching out as if I could grab hold of him, hold him tight and protect him against those _things_.

“Come _on_ , Sir Elf,” said Ysme, resisting my struggling and continuing to pull me forward. Hanna sheathed her sword and grabbed my other arm, her grip strong. Her eyes were stormy and refused to meet mine. Together, they managed to pull me towards the exit, urging me to keep running.

I was sobbing and didn’t realize it; I felt certain I had just left my lover to his death. We were only a feet past the exit and down the corridor when an incredible roar seemed to reverberate through the place, vibrating the stone beneath my feet and even the vary air around me.

“What was that?” I asked, terrified, even as the girls continued to pull me forward.

“ _That_ was a Shout,” said Ysme grimly. “Now stop whubbling and _keep moving_!”

A Shout—A _Thu’um_ in the dragon speech. I shuddered in awe, then let them lead me further down the hallway. I was still frightened, but I hoped and prayed to all the gods that I had underestimated my lover’s abilities. He was a seasoned warrior, a gifted general—and he could _Shout_. Perhaps he stood a chance after all.

“This way!” I said, seeing the scrap of cloth I had lain out earlier. We hurried down the path; I made them pause when it diverged again so I could rip off another piece of cloth. Then they grabbed me and yanked me forward once again.

It wasn’t long before we came to the Black Book. The sounds of battle still echoed far behind us. Hanna and Ysme didn’t give me time to pause and look back and reconsider. They dragged me up to the altar, and without further ado, we all three forced ourselves to stare down at the open Book—and disappear from this place.

// //

 

FYI, "[White Owl](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fwj_QLrvftc)" by Josh Garrels is my mood song for the Apocrypha (and Casien's experience there in this chapter, of being lost and alone)

And "[Can't Take My Eyes Off You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tf2G8G2_slc)" by Cary Brothers perfectly sums up Ulfric's bittersweet obsession with Casien.

Lastly -- please check out the commissioned art recently posted at the bottom of chapter 5!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ♡♡♡♡♡


	18. Chapter 18

We rematerialized back in Eleanor and Brelyna’s room, our knees buckling slightly as we “landed.” Hanna and Ysme both let go of me, and I was keenly aware of the disgusted look Hanna gave me as she left my side. Ysme, still panting, shook her head slightly, though her hand lingered on my shoulder, giving me a little pat.

“Oh, thank the gods!” said Brelyna, running up to hug me, her eyes filled with tears.

Eleanor stood back, her face white with suppressed fury.

“Where’s Uncle?” asked Una, dawning horror on her face.

“He stayed behind,” spat Hanna, grabbing a towel to methodically clean off her sword.

Una blanched even more, and I placed my hand instinctively over my mouth, muffling the sound that immediately escaped me. I closed my eyes and felt Brelyna’s arms tighten briefly around me.

“He’ll be fine,” said Ysme, but even she sounded uncertain. “He’ll Shout those damned things to death if he has to. He’s Ulfric bloody Stormcloak!”

“You _idiot_ ,” Eleanor finally managed. The words left her mouth in a snarl, and both her hands were bunched into fists now. “What were you _thinking_? Why?!”

“You thought you could find a book that told you who the assassins were, didn’t you?” said Brelyna, gazing up at me now with still tear-filled eyes. “Oh, _Casien_!”

I sat down on the nearest chair, too numb to respond. My hands shook, so I clasped them, and stared at my boots and tried not to think about what would happen if we waited and waited… and he never came back.

Twenty minutes later, I was still in my chair and staring at my hands. Brelyna sat at my feet, her head leaning against my knee. Una sat in a corner, elbows on her knees and arms over her head. Hanna and Eleanor sat together, neither of them looking at me. Eventually, Ysme stopped pacing and, biting her lip, said to the room in general.

“I think it’s time we tell General Gal—”

But she never finished the sentence, for there, right beside the book, appeared my lover.

Una gasped with relief. I don’t know what I did, in all honesty. I only can recall the immense relief that washed over me when I saw him finally reappear. He was breathing heavily, and his sword and clothing had streaks of black ichor on them. There was a gash on his upper left arm, the tattered remains of his sleeve hanging down past his elbow.

His eyes found mine.

He dropped his filthy longsword on the floor, the ichor immediately staining the immaculate rug, and strode towards me. I didn’t even flinch as he grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet. Without saying a word to the others, he marched us to the door and out we went.

The guard still standing outside started when she saw us.

“Thank the Nine!” she cried, and I supposed from her voice and expression that I had been gone for quite some time.

Ulfric dragged me past her without so much as acknowledging her presence. I looked back behind me and met her wide, startled eyes before I had to face forward again or else risk tripping over my own feet. Not that his grip on my arm was hard enough to hurt, of course—I don’t think he was capable of harming me. But his hand remained locked there, and we moved at a rapid pace, his face a thundercloud. Nighttime guards and servants blinked and startled to see us, but he paid them no mind as well.

I remained silent, my heart hammering against my ribs. I didn’t know what to say. I knew he was furious with me, and I supposed he had no wish to express _how_ furious until we were alone.

I was right.

Once back in our rooms he finally released me, slamming the door behind him.

“You will _explain_ yourself. You will explain why you broke your promise to me, snuck out of bed like a petulant child, and entered that cursed place behind my back.”

“I didn’t sneak out,” I said, suddenly annoyed by the way he was speaking to me. “I was just trying to help! I thought the Apocrypha could show me who the assassins were and—

“You are not some hero in a novel!” he interrupted, fury burning in his eyes suddenly. “When will you learn to accept this? _You_ _can be killed_!”

“Stop yelling at me as if I were a child!” I shouted back.

“I will once you stop acting like one!” He turned away from me, his hands balling into fists—it reminded me of the final memory the book had shown me, when he’d gripped the back of the chair so hard.

“Do you not understand what would happen if you died?” he asked, his voice suddenly rough with emotion. “What would happen to me?” He turned back around to face me. “Do you? I could not bear it! My fool heart, as Galmar calls it, dissolving into bitterness and anger and hatred! Hatred turns to cruelty, or worse, indifference!” He grabbed me by the arms suddenly, his fingers clenching. “I cannot lose you! _Skyrim_ cannot lose you!”

I stared back at him, breathing heavily. A few tears filled my eyes, but I blinked them back.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” I finally managed.

He released me, turning away from me again as if he couldn’t stand to look at me.

“ _Sorry_ is not enough,” he snapped. “It is not enough!”

He paced the room for a moment, running one shaking hand through his hair. Finally, he growled and whirled to face me again.

“You will remain in this room until I say you may leave. Should you step one toe outside this door I shall tie you to your horse and send you back to Windhelm where you belong!”

With that he made for the door, slamming it behind him. I had no idea where he was going or what he planned to do—I wasn’t sure what _I_ was supposed to do. After a moment, my entire body now feeling as if it were slowly filling up with self-hatred, I went to sit down on the edge of the bed. I pushed my boots off before pulling my knees up to sit cross-legged and burying my face in my hands.

The degree to which I had fucked everything up… it was impossible to even fathom. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to turn back the hands of time and reverse my decision to leave my bed to seek out the Apocrypha. At the time, it had seemed the right thing to do, the _brave_ thing to do. The only thing I _could_ do. But now I realized I had only done it to prove to myself that I wasn’t as useless as I constantly felt myself to be.

And the saddest thing was, I had proven nothing. I _was_ useless. I was a burden to my lover, in more ways than one. Most importantly, I was potentially his greatest source of pain, and thus, in my carelessness concerning my own life, I had been careless of his heart—and, considering who he was, careless with the entire fate of my adopted country.

I’m sure I cried. But those bleak, lonely moments are a blur now. I only know that I was near to being the absolute lowest I had ever been. This was all on top of the fact that I had nearly lost my life tonight—I had not even been given the chance to really reflect on what had happened to me. Tonight I would have nightmares on top of nightmares—my lover’s furious, disappointed face interchanging with the visage of that horrifying, lurching, dark creature.

And then there were the memories.

Nothing hurt worse than now knowing the true depths of his attachment to me. That he had loved me for so long, and so deeply, filled me with such overwhelming guilt. I had never, ever doubted the sincerity of his feelings. But now more than ever, I questioned what I had ever done to deserve them.

Sitting here, having been thoroughly chastised by him—I was worse than undeserving. I was, as I had concluded earlier, little more than a burden to the man I loved.

There was a knock on the door. I lifted my head and stared blearily at the doorway to the sitting room. It wasn’t in me to bid anyone to enter, which was just as well. I heard the door open and close softly, then, to my surprise, in stepped Ania and Hellina.

They were still dressed in their night things, though Ania had brought her sword, which she leaned against the wall before coming to sit down beside me. Hellina had what looked like a steaming mug of coffee or tea—tea, presumably, considering the hour. She sat down beside me as well, putting her free arm around my shoulders while handing me the mug. I took that as an invitation to lean against her, close my eyes, and let the tears silently fall.

“Try to drink a little,” she said gently, after a while. “It will make you feel better.”

I lifted the mug to my lips and took a few sips. The steam helped clear my nose, which of course had clogged up from my crying. It was a light, warm herbal tea with hints of lavender and mint. It didn’t make me feel better, though knowing she had made it for me… somehow did.

“You should try to get some sleep,” she said, squeezing my shoulder.

“Come on,” said Ania, plucking at the ruins of my tunic. “Take all of this off and crawl into bed. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“Did he send you?” I managed to ask, sniffing and sipping the last of my tea, but relieved to hear my voice not shake.

“Father did. Uncle is…”

“Don’t worry about him,” said Hellina. “He’s with Galmar. You’ll talk in the morning, and he’ll be sorry for the things he said.”

Ania sighed. “Mother would ring his ears if she’d heard how he yelled at you.”

I felt myself blanch.

“You heard that?”

She grinned wryly.

“Uncle’s voice tends to carry, and not only when he’s Shouting.”

I was overwhelmed by this news. So my lover was too angry with me to even rejoin me in bed tonight. We had had our little arguments before, usually misunderstandings, the growing pains of any new relationship. But this… this was a first.

I tried not to cry. It was very hard. I had to disappear into the wash room to blow my nose against a cloth. There, I stripped down to my smallclothes and wrapped myself in a robe before remerging. I stopped short, blinking in surprise to see both Hellina and Ania curled up together in the center of the bed with the covers pulled up. They had tossed aside their own robes, and were now talking lowly to one another.

They looked up when they noticed me. Hellina smiled.

“Come,” she said, scooting over and patting the spot between her and Ania. “We’ll be your guards tonight. You’ll be safe between us.”

“Don’t talk to him likes he’s 12, Hells,” muttered Ania. “That’s the last thing he needs right now.”

But Hellina only laughed. And, in all honesty, I could probably use a bit of coddling at the moment. Hellina wouldn’t let me get into the bed until I removed the robe; she was right in saying I’d suffocate with it on and wouldn’t be able to sleep properly, but I still blushed up to my ears at the thought of being in bed with them both while nearly naked.

Ania snorted.

“Sex party!” she crowed, and Hellina lightly tossed a pillow at her.

“Pull an undertunic on, then,” she encouraged. “Use one of his. It’ll be big enough to let you breathe, and you won’t get too hot.”

I silently obeyed, too emotionally drained at this point to really protest. I rummaged around in the king’s trunk before pulling out a clean, oversized undertunic, shrugging out of the robe quickly so I could pull it on. Then I trudged up onto the bed, crawling over Hellina and dropping down between both girls. Hellina pulled the covers up over us, and I lay down on my stomach, as was my wont, and tried my hardest to burrow into my pillow and wish this night had never happened at all.

“FYI,” mumbled Ania, lying down beside me, “I’m a snuggler.”

She looped an arm loosely over my back, and I felt Hellina do the same. Surprisingly, their nearness was a warmth and a comfort, and I drifted off to sleep almost immediately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really, really sorry this update took so long. You see, I work always two chapters ahead, so while this chapter seems really short (and it is! I'm so sorry! but it was the right place to end things... poor Casien) the chapter I just finished working on is 8500 words long o.o and was a bit of a struggle, because that sort of thing (what happens in it) isn't really my forte ^^
> 
> So please forgive the length of this chapter, as well as the amount of time it took to post it. 
> 
> And say a prayer to Mara and Azura for Casien and Ulfric. 💔 Those poor broken-hearted fools!


	19. Chapter 19

It was late morning when I finally awoke.

The sun was streaming through the window by the desk, and I could hear a songbird singing, perched just on the outside of the window. None of it matched my mood—or the terrible headache I could now feel pounding behind my eyes.

I sat up, blinking and looking groggily around me. I reached up, rubbing my forehead absently, and realized the obvious: Hellina had put something in that tea. Probably something to help me sleep, but perhaps I’d overslept, or perhaps, unbeknownst to her, it affected Dunmer differently. Either way, both she and Ania were gone.

There was breakfast on the little table. The setting was for only one person. There was nothing in the room to indicate that the king had returned at any point.

So I was still a pariah.

I sat down gingerly and picked up a piece of toast. It tasted… good. Soft but crunchy, buttery, with a smear of sweet jam on top. But I couldn’t enjoy it. I set it down after a few bites and reached for my coffee instead.

I knew I’d been a fool, that I’d put everyone I cared for at risk. I shuddered when I thought of the creatures I’d encountered last night—but I shuddered even more when I thought of who had had to fight them. Without question, I imagined, Hanna and Ysme had volunteered to join the king. No wonder Eleanor had been so furious with me. Any or all of them could have died last night, and if they had, it would have been completely my fault.

And yes, I had to live with that realization: that I could have inadvertently caused the death of the next High King of Skyrim.

Here I was, paranoid about saying the wrong thing at the moot or being seen speaking to the wrong person at the wrong time. But if there was one thing that could reignite the civil war, it was the sudden and unexpected death of Ulfric Stormcloak.

As for the moot, it was clear that, at least for the time being, I was not to be involved. It was well past nine o’clock now, and I knew the others would already be gathered in the council room. I’m sure Laila questioned Ulfric as to why I wasn’t by his side this morning. I imagined him stonily ignoring the question, fury still burning in his pale blue eyes.

I supposed I could sit here all day and stew over my own foolishness. But what I really should be doing was apologizing. Each and every one of my friends deserved to hear me say I was sorry. Sorry to Una for making her fear for her uncle’s life. Sorry to Hanna and Ysme for making them risk their own. Sorry to Eleanor and Brelyna for risking _my_ own.

Sorry to everyone for lying. Sorry for breaking my promises to them.

Sorry for being exactly the person they were forever accusing me of being: impulsive, foolhardy, and selfish.

I finished the rest of my coffee and forced myself back to my feet. We had been at Dragonsreach long enough that the launderers had been through our dirty things, so I had quite the array of clothes to choose from. But for once, I couldn’t care less what I was wearing. I pulled on the first pair of pants I found, then pulled a tunic over my lover’s oversized undertunic, and didn’t particularly care how the bottom stuck out or the sleeves went over my knuckles. I was decent. I pulled on my boots, strapped on my sword belt—the sheath for my dagger now conspicuously empty, for I’d left it in that accursed place—and headed for the door.

I opened it, but before I could step one foot outside, the guard there held up a hand.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” he said, and he was blushing, poor man. “The jarl said… well, he said you weren’t to leave this room.”

I blinked at him.

“He said _what_?”  

I pressed my lips into a thin line, my hands balling into fists. He honestly thought he could keep me a _prisoner_ in our own room? As if I were some sort of criminal? Or perhaps more a naughty child who’d been sent to _his_ room without his dinner, more likely.

But then, as soon as the anger washed over me, it dissipated.

Honestly? I deserved it. How could he possibly trust me after what I’d pulled last night? The only way to keep me safe was to keep me locked up here, out of harm’s way, and out of any trouble I could foolishly create for myself.

“I’m really sorry,” the guard was saying. “Please, Lord Casien—I don’t want to have to—” He paused, swallowing. “Just, please return to your room?”

I sighed. Then I nodded, and turned to do as he begged.

Back in our room, I felt suddenly stupid for determinedly getting dressed only a moment ago. My feelings made no sense, but I couldn’t help it. Angrily, I yanked off my sword belt, uncharacteristically letting it slide to the ground and leaving it there. I stepped over it, kicking my boots off as I went. I even pulled off my tunic and flung it aside.

I flopped back down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. So this was what a _real_ argument felt like. Not like we were _actually_ arguing, since he appeared to not want to have anything to do with me at present. And fine: I had screwed up. I really had. But treating me like a spoiled and naughty child was…

Was…

I sighed and groaned, pushing the palms of my hands into my eyeballs, as if I could squeeze out the remains of my headache. It was exactly what I deserved.

I couldn’t help feeling sorry for myself, as I lay there idly, having no earthly idea what to do with the rest of my day. I wondered if I’d been barred from having visitors—or if my friends were simply too angry with me to come and see me. Of course, it was still only mid-morning; for all I knew, I’d be sharing a conciliatory lunch with the king, doing my utmost to promise to _never_ deceive him like that again.

Not likely.

After a few more depressing minutes of silent contemplation regarding the vestiges of my relationship, I decided to take a bath. It always soothed me, and besides, after everything that happened last night, I could probably use one. Imagining my lover walking in and glaring at me for enjoying myself when I ought to be agonizing over my sins somewhat spoiled it—as did recollecting all of the _happier_ times we’d spent there together—but I think I still managed to at least relax a little. By the time I drained the water and stepped out of the tub, my heart didn’t feel _quite_ so heavy, and at least my headache was gone.

I pulled on a fresh pair of smallclothes, then decided to pull the king’s oversized (on me, at least) undertunic back on—today, I decided, was a day for staying in bed with my books. If I was to be banished to my room, I might as well make the most of my time. There hadn’t been much time for reading while here, what with the meetings, and my desire to spend as much time with my friends as possible, before we’d all have to say our good-byes and go our separate ways again.

I read for the next couple of hours, trying valiantly to lose myself in the early history of Whiterun, or the ancient origins of dragon priests, or the collection of Bosmer ballads. It was a mostly losing battle.

Around lunchtime, there was a knock at the door.

I didn’t dare let myself hope. Besides, _he_ wouldn’t have knocked.

“Come in,” I called, not moving from my spot on the bed, covers pulled up to my lap, where my open book now sat.

It was Una and Ysme. A servant followed them, wheeling in a lunch tray before bowing and leaving us alone together.

“Well, look at you,” drawled Ysme. “Sad little lord sitting in bed all morning as if he can’t bring himself to meet the day.”

“That about covers it,” I said. “Fair warning, I’m not wearing pants.”

Una made a face but Ysme just snorted.

“We’ll come to you then,” she said.

A few minutes later, they had joined me on the bed, a tray between the three of us, holding our plates and beers. I wondered at the two of them showing up together, but guessed they must have really become friendly after sharing a room for the past week or so. I supposed Ysme wasn’t on duty at present—perhaps she’d been given the day off, after last night—and I didn’t dare ask Una if she had any updates on any _particular_ members of her family. At least the latter didn’t seem angry with me.

We were nearly done with our lunch, however, before the forced idle chit-chat evidently became too much for her.

“Okay,” she said, tossing down the remains of her apple. “Are you going to tell him or should I?”

“Be my guest.”

Una turned to look at me.

“Olfina’s uncle’s to be entombed tonight. The priests have finished with the body and have reached a conclusion regarding his death.”

Suddenly, my heart did a little unsteady flip in my chest. I swallowed.

“What did they learn?” I asked.

Una and Ysme exchanged a look.

“They learned… well, they learned it probably wasn’t the work of an assassin after all.”

“Heart attack,” said Ysme. “Likely took the old goat in his sleep.”

How to explain the emotions that washed over me in that moment? It was the one thing I hadn’t counted on being true. For the past 24 hours, I’d been overcome by what I thought was finally sure proof that an assassin had struck Dragonsreach. That feeling of overwhelming dread had sat so heavily upon my shoulders that I’d finally convinced myself to do something about it. But now—now I learned that I had risked my life and the lives of my lover and my friends for, it turned out, a nonexistent cause: there _was_ no assassin.

Perhaps there never even had been.

“All right, Sir Elf?” Ysme asked softly.

I blinked and met her eyes. I hadn’t realized my vision had gone slightly cloudy—not from tears, just from—I don’t know. Probably from pure shock.

“How did you…?”

“Ania told us,” said Una. “Evidently, Olfina revealed the truth at the moot this morning. We only learned it from Ania a few minutes ago.”

“So…” I swallowed, the taste in my mouth now turned bitter. “They’re finished for the day.”

And he still hadn’t come to see me. Could he truly still be so angry that he couldn’t stand to be in the same room as me? Apparently so. I felt suddenly so tired, as if it were a struggle even to remain sitting upright before my two friends. I truly wanted nothing more than to lie back down and pull the bedcovers over my head: in effect, to look and act the child I had already proven myself to be.

“He _will_ forgive you,” said Una, her voice managing to penetrate the fog of self-hatred which had slowly gathered around me. “He really does love you. Honestly, I’ve never seen him like this with anyone but you. I think he just… needs some time to deal with everything.”

“Do you know how hard it is,” I said quietly, “being next to someone like him? I mean, he’s _Ulfric Stormcloak_. He’s the king. And I’m just… me.”

“And what’s wrong with you?” asked Ysme, sounding for all the world like she’d fight anyone who thought I was anything but worthy to stand at my lover’s side.

I shook my head.

“Nothing. But that’s just it: I’m nobody, really. I’m just this poor Dunmer who wasn’t born to _any_ of this. But last night, I finally thought I could _do_ something. Me, Casien, the stupid little Dunmer. No, don’t,” I said, before they could protest. “Because all I really did was prove all those little thoughts in my head to be true. I _am_ stupid. I should _never_ have returned to the Apocrypha. I was so damned worried about proving myself that I didn’t stop to think about the consequences of my actions.

“And now…” I shrugged. “He doesn’t even want to see me. That’s how much I fucked up.”

They were both silent for a while, and, terrible as it made me feel to think it, I sincerely wished they would just leave. I had a feeling I wasn’t exactly fit company at the moment, and in my bitterness, I might actually say something I regretted.

“He’ll come around,” Una said after a while. “You just have to be patient. And you _did_ —I mean, I know you know this, but—

“I. fucked. up.” I looked at her, saying each word slowly. “Yes, I know. That’s what I’m saying.”

“But you’re also feeling sorry for yourself,” chirped Ysme. “Which is totally understandable. And it’s why we’re here!”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Why, so you can tell me what a sad sap I’m being?”

She snorted.

“No, silly boy. So you can talk, and we can listen. That’s what friends are for.”

“Don’t lump me in with all that mushy stuff,” said Una, wrinkling her nose. “I just agreed to bring him lunch.”

That naturally induced Ysme to start guffawing, and I couldn’t help smiling a little, too. Soon, though, it was time for them to go. Ysme had been given the morning off, but she was to report downstairs around noon. Una could have stayed, but I think she could tell I still wanted more than anything to be alone. Before they both left, they informed me that Vignar’s funeral was to be held tonight. They had little doubt that I would be expected to accompany Ulfric, which, as you can imagine, started my stomach flip-flopping over itself almost immediately.

On the one hand, I was distressed by the fact that my lover hadn’t come to see me yet. But on the other hand, I was _relieved_ that he hadn’t, for it meant I hadn’t yet had to face him and come to grips with what I’d done. Now, at least, I knew the end was near.

I once again did my best to distract myself. I read. I practiced my magic, though my focus was even worse than usual, and at one point I nearly set the drapes on fire. I sighed, and finally had to admit that I was simply bored. I was trapped in a comparatively small room, not counting the bathing room or the sitting room, without a soul to talk to. It was funny—I used to enjoy my solitude. And I suppose I still did. But after a few hours of being totally alone, I was ready to speak to someone— _any_ one.

I got my wish once dinnertime rolled around. There was a knock at the door, and to my surprise, once I bid them to enter, another servant appeared, wheeling in another dinner cart.

“I’m to have dinner here?” I asked, blinking, for that didn’t seem quite right. And, sure enough, the plate was set for only one.

The servant looked confused.

“I don’t know, m’lord,” he said. “I was just told to bring it to your room—that is, to this room.”

Of course. I chastised myself inwardly for harassing the poor man before thanking him. He bowed and took his leave, leaving me alone to eat my dinner with no one but myself.

I was still morosely picking the pieces of chicken off the bone and listlessly dropping them onto my plate when there was yet another knock.

This one was sharp and quick—not a servant, for sure.

“Come in,” I called, not bothering to rise from my spot on the bed, though I did crane my head around to see who would emerge from the sitting room.

It was _Galmar_.

“Galmar!” I said, sitting back in surprise.

He nodded at me, looking more awkward than I’d ever seen him. But instead of saying anything, he immediately went to the king’s trunk and opened it, rummaging through its contents before throwing a clean pair of trousers, tunic, and a few other items over his shoulder.

My heart abruptly sank somewhere down into the vicinity of my stomach.

“I’m not going to the funeral,” I said softly.

He glanced up at me, pressing his lips together, but said nothing.

I couldn’t believe it. My lover was still refusing to talk to me. He was still refusing to even _see_ me. It had been a long time coming, but now, finally, I could feel tears beginning to fill my eyes. I was so used to Galmar now—he was family, really—that I didn’t even think to hide them. I just blinked, and wiped at my cheeks, sniffing and biting down on the inside of my cheek so my chin wouldn’t actually start trembling.

Poor Galmar. He liked to cultivate a certain persona—the great general, the grizzled veteran who didn’t have time for feelings and all that sort of nonsense. But I knew for a fact that he was a loving husband, and a doting father, for all he pretended to suffer each time one of his younger daughters hugged him.

He sighed, finally, and grabbed a chair from the breakfast table, plunking it down beside the bed.

“Stop that whubbling,” he said gruffly, straddling the chair, clothing tossed over one knee. “It’s not as bad as all that.”

I sniffed again and nodded, wiping my eyes again and trying to calm myself, but it was hard. I didn’t fully believe him. How could I?

“He’s so angry he doesn’t even want to see me,” I said, inwardly relieved my voice wasn’t shaking.

“Calm yourself, lad. That’s not it at all.” He sighed again, flicking his eyes up and shaking his head. “Nine above, the things I do for him… Listen. I’m telling you this, but it’s just between you and me, you hear?”

I blinked and nodded.

“Good, because he’d chew my ear off if he’d known I told you. But the truth is, right now he’s afraid. He’s afraid if he so much as lays on you, he’ll—look, he almost lost you last night. And it’s eating him up. Give him time. It’s enough of a damned shit show around here as it is; there’s not been time for him to come to grips with things and try to move on. And you ought to have realized by now that the way that fool deals with things that weigh his equally fool heart down is to avoid them completely. So that’s what he’s doing—for now.

“Once this funeral’s out of the way, I’ll make sure he sleeps here tonight. I’ll drag him by that sad excuse of a beard of his if I have to.”

I hesitated, then nodded.

He nodded back, then frowned.

“Mara’s tits, are you not wearing pants? And is that one of _his_ tunics you’re wearing?” He rolled his eyes again and got back to his feet, grumbling under his breath. “I ought to tell him as much, the great big fool, just to see the look on his face.”

He snorted and huffed, not bothering to explain his peculiar comments as he replaced the chair. He then made me promise to stop bawling like a babe just yanked from its mother’s tit (his words, not mine) before letting himself out.

I tried to think about what he’d said. If he were right—and by now I knew that few people understood my lover better than his oldest and dearest friend—if he were right, then Ulfric had been avoiding me for most of the day simply because he couldn’t emotionally handle being around me right now. I had to remind myself that we weren’t at home. He had to appear constantly in control while we were here, and he couldn’t be distracted from the goings-on of the moot.

But it seemed like a poor excuse, if I were honest with myself. Maybe that was what _Galmar_ believed—or maybe it was just what he’d decided to tell me, so as to spare my own fool heart. Whatever the case, I tried not to let myself hope that he would be successful tonight in convincing my lover to finally come and face me. I didn’t know what I’d do if he decided to banish himself from our bed for a second night.

Afternoon dragged on into evening. I had finished my meal, and I assumed by now that everyone must be at the funeral. All thing considered, I wasn’t sorry to be missing it (though I cringed to think of what manner of excuse was given for my absence). I had no desire to see poor Olfina struggling to balance her own emotions with her new duties as jarl.

An hour or so later, I was pacing the room nervously, my fingers twisting the long sleeves of my lover’s tunic as I tried to prepare myself for his inevitable arrival—when there was a sudden knock on the door.

I stilled. The king wouldn’t knock, so who could it be?

“Come in,” I called, but no one answered.

This was very odd. Perhaps they hadn’t heard me, or perhaps it was one of my friends, and they didn’t wish to come in without knowing if I were decent or not.

I went to grab a robe, wrapping it absently around myself as I moved to finally open the door.

There was no one there.

I turned to the guard, still sitting in his usual chair.

“Did you…?”

But I trailed off, for the poor man appeared to be fast asleep. I stared at his slack face for a moment, rather dumbfounded, for sleeping on the job wasn’t generally something one expected to encounter from one of the guards hand-picked by Galmar himself. But, I supposed the guards had been stretched rather thin of late. I glanced further down the hall to see if the other guard stationed there had noticed, but was astonished to see that there was no one there.

I’ll admit—the faintest of warning bells had begun to go off. But even then, I was so down on myself that day that I jumped to the conclusion that the threat of assassination was no longer being taken seriously, and so the guard at the end of the hallway had been relieved. As for the one now slumbering on the job—he had been positioned there to keep me from leaving the room.

I closed the door gently, not wanting to wake the sleeping guard, though I did wonder if I perhaps ought to do so anyway, for it would be far better for _me_ to wake him than for the king to do so. I was contemplating on whether or not to go back outside and do just that when—

A man suddenly appeared right in front of me.

I gaped at him, my heart immediately leaping up into my throat.

He stared at me, then brought his hand up, narrowing his eyes and waving it abruptly in front of my face.

I immediately lost consciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ruh-roh.


	20. Chapter 20

Magic.

Sometimes I understand why Nords are so afraid of it. Unless you yourself are a practitioner, it’s near impossible to guard against. Oh, I know the Stormcloaks train to block destruction spells with their shields, to put an arrow through an enemy mage’s heart before they can complete a spell. But a truly powerful mage is, in many ways, nearly unstoppable when relying on conventional means.

I didn’t know if the man who had used illusion magic to make himself invisible before putting a sleep spell on me—just as he’d done to my guard—was a powerful mage or not. But I knew that all our planning, all our worrying, had ultimately been for nothing, for the man, whoever he was, had simply walked into my quarters and taken me without so much as a struggle.

But at least I wasn’t dead. My eyes fluttered open, and the first thing I noticed was the cold. I still had my robe on, and my lover’s undertunic under that, but my legs and feet were bare. I lay on freezing cold stone, only a few bits of what felt like hay scratching my bare skin here and there. But though the air was chilled, it wasn’t freezing, for it was still springtime in the south—I wasn’t going to die of hypothermia.

I was on my back. I must have been set down with some care, for I felt no bruises. I blinked several times, but no—everything was still nearly pitch dark. After a moment, my eyes adjusted to the dark a bit better, and I was able to discern that I was in some sort of small, stone room. I lifted my head, lifting myself up on my elbows next. There was something cold around my right wrist, and I didn’t have to feel through the dark to know it was a manacle, the thin chain linked to the nearby wall of my small room—no, not my room, my _cell_.

“You’re awake,” said a woman’s soft voice.

My heart stuttered a little, and I glanced at the wall to my right, for that was where the voice had come.

“…Who are you?” I finally managed to ask.

“Does it matter? Though I suppose it would be unfair of me to hide my identity, since I well know who _you_ are. Casien Yedlin, future husband to Ulfric Stormcloak. He who now styles himself High King, a title he stole from my own husband after he killed him.”

I gaped, even though she obviously couldn’t see me.

“Lady Elisif,” I said, chills crawling up my arms, for she was the last person I expected to be imprisoned next to. “Are you a prisoner, too?”

She laughed, the sound bitter and soft.

“Yes. I have been here for… I couldn’t really say, for I have slept a good deal of it, and there is nothing here to help me track the passage of time. Erikur sends his servant to leave me food and water, or to empty my bucket. A day, perhaps two. No one but Falk and Bryling even know I’m in Whiterun, and I suppose they now assume I have… but I don’t know.”

She was quiet for a moment, then: “But with you here… your king will lose his mind, won’t he? He’ll start another war. Everyone from here to the Sea of Ghosts will hear of your loss. And everyone will be made to suffer for it.”

“Is that what he wants?” I asked, scarcely able to believe what she was telling me. “War?” I shook my head, fear clenching itself around my chest, making it momentarily hard to breathe.

“Who can say? I was blind to his self-serving machinations while I was queen, though I believe Falk always saw him for what he was. I imagine only he could tell us what Erikur seeks to gain from this madness.”

“I’m not surprised,” I said. “Ulfric wants Falk to be jarl, only he seems unwilling to accept the job.”

“I’m sure it must come as no surprise to you that I care nothing for the opinion of Ulfric Stormcloak, even if I happen to agree with him. But what any of us wants matters very little now. As I said: your king will fall into madness, and Skyrim will be at war again.”

But this couldn’t happen. I _refused_ to allow it to happen. My adopted country, fall to bitterly ripping itself to pieces for the second time in less than a year? And all because of me? No. Not while I still lived and breathed.

I sat up fully, blinking in the low light, my left hand absently rubbing at the skin under the manacle around my right wrist. The cell was narrow; I could nearly stretch my hands out and touch both sides. It was longer than it was wide. The entrance, surprisingly, was open, and faced a hallway where a small table sat flush against the wall, a flickering oil lamp our only source of light.

Of course the chain that connected the manacle to the side of the cell wall was not long enough to let me reach the cell’s entrance.

I didn’t doubt I could see better in the dark than my companion, but even so, inspecting the manacle and chain failed to produce anything in the way of ideas. The chain, though narrow, was linked firmly with the wall. The manacle was loose, but not loose enough for me to pull my hand through, no matter how hard I tried. I gave up before my efforts did more than merely scratch and chaff my skin.

Well, I thought. It was magic which had gotten me into this situation. It stood to reason that magic could get me out of it.

Did my captor even know I was a mage? Malyn Varen had claimed that he could sense the magic seeping out of me, so great was my connection to it. But he had been an extremely powerful necromancer.

“You’ve gone quiet,” said Elisif. “I could have told you that it’s pointless to try and escape.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” I said, though I wasn’t fully paying attention to her. I looked around the cell, then back down at the manacle. I picked up the chain next, fingering the small links.

Transfiguration seemed the obvious answer. But I was awful at transfiguration. It had taken me days to place holes in a button, and even then I couldn’t make them stay. My focus was still a problem, and maybe it always would be. Furthermore, I had never worked with stone before, only wood. No, Brelyna might have been able to transfigure one of the links in the chain—but I certainly couldn’t.

Illusion magic was probably my second best subject, but it wouldn’t do me any good now. Unless I were to appear momentarily invisible when Erikur’s elven servant returned—assuming he _did_ return. (I was assuming the face of the man I’d seen before losing consciousness was the servant—Melaran, I think he’d been called. No one had ever said a word about his being a mage.)

But what good would that do? He was much taller and bigger than me, and I had no weapons. I supposed I could try to aim a fireball at his face, but that would be asking a lot of myself: purposefully murdering a man in cold blood.

Oh. Of course—destruction magic.

_That’s_ what I was good at. It had taken me some time to accept that about myself, and part of that acceptance had been realizing that that particular branch of magic didn’t _always_ have to be used for destruction. It ought to be more properly termed _elemental_ magic, for that’s exactly what it was: using magicka to manipulate and control the elements around you.

Fire was by far the easiest element for me to create and control. I could easily engulf this entire cell in flames if I wanted, but that wouldn’t exactly do me much good. True, even metal could melt in the hottest of flames, but that would require intense control, and I didn’t fancy accidently lighting my wrist on fire instead of the manacle or chain.

No, fire wouldn’t work, not this time. But there was one element that _might_ work, and one spell in particular: the snap freeze.

Metal didn’t just melt under high temperatures; it could shatter under exceedingly low ones, too. But it had to be _really_ cold, and it might require immense and sudden pressure to truly shatter.

I was on hands and knees then, searching the cell floor for even the smallest stone I might be able to use, but I was out of luck. I moved instead to feel along the walls, searching for loose or broken pieces. Fortunately, the back wall appeared to have been bricked shut, and several of the bricks in one corner were a little loose. It took some time, and the tips of my fingers were starting to blister and bleed, but I finally managed to wiggle one of them free.

I hefted the brick, wondering at my captor’s carelessness. I could easily hurl such a ‘weapon’ at the first person who walked through the cell door. Not that I could have pushed myself to ever do such a thing, but still.

I knelt back down on the floor, laying as much of the chain on the floor before me as I could. I struck it with the brick a couple of times, just to practice. I had to use my left hand, which was awkward, and not as strong as my right, but I didn’t have much choice.

“What on earth are you doing?” asked Elisif, who probably thought I’d gone mad.

I didn’t answer. Instead, I poured all my focus into the task at hand. I lay the brick down and peered through the darkness at the chain before me. I took a deep breath.

At the college, one of the first things my teachers had taught me was to ignore the wild magicka that was always at my disposal, for it was too powerful for me to control. But if I did that, I could only draw from the magicka within me; I gained focus and precision, but lost a great deal of power. But if I wanted to cast a snap freeze spell cold enough to shatter a metal chain, I was going to need both power _and_ precision. My own magicka wasn’t going to be enough.

My first attempt, I missed the chain completely, instead freezing the stone floor (and a few stray needles of hay). I pressed my lips together, then tried again. This time, I successfully froze several links in the chain. But by the time I grabbed the brick and slammed it against the chain, nothing happened.

Perhaps I hadn’t been fast enough. The temperature could only stay so cold for so long. Or perhaps I wasn’t swinging my brick down hard enough. Either way, the only way I was going to succeed would be to try and try and _try_ again.

So I did. Again, and again, and again, until finally—finally!—the chain snapped, a link shattering completely. I sat back, panting from the effort of all my previous swings, and blinked down at the half-broken chain as if I couldn’t believe it had really worked. I tossed the brick aside and wiggled the broken link free.

I had done it.

I stood up, pausing to grab my brick before hurrying out of my cell and into the one next to mine.

“By the gods!!” cried Elisif, shrinking back in alarm before realizing it was me. “How did you—!?

“You’ll see,” I said, kneeling down quickly beside her. “Here, put your hand down and lay the chain against the floor.”

I looked up then, our eyes meeting for the first time. She probably couldn’t make out the features of my face very well—but I could make out hers.

“I’ve seen you,” I said, sitting back on my heels, my hand slowly falling back to my side. “At the marketplace.”

The beautiful woman with the dark red hair—always watching me, pulling her hood down and turning away when she realized I’d been looking.

“Yes,” she said. “I was curious. I wanted to know what sort of man could stomach lying with a murderer.”

“And?”

My voice didn’t even sound like my own. Her words had chilled me, as if my heart had momentarily stopped.

She smiled, the expression bitter, and sad.

“And… you were nothing like I imagined. Just a boy, really. And an elf at that—I’m not sure which surprised me more. You smiled, and seemed to care for your friends a great deal. I couldn’t hate you. I could only wonder how he had managed to bewitch such a creature.”

I was quiet. I didn’t know how to respond to that, for the man we both knew as _Ulfric Stormcloak_ was not the same man. One was my lover, and the other had murdered her own in cold blood. True, one man had done both those things: killed High King Torygg but also won my heart. But we would never see him as the same man. It simply wasn’t possible.

“Lay your hand down,” I finally said, lowering my eyes once more. “And stretch the chain out on the floor.” I hesitated before adding, “I’m going to use magic. I’m a mage, so don’t be alarmed.”

She said nothing to this, so I assumed she was okay with it. After all, she didn’t have much choice.

I was better at it this time, and able to use both hands: one to cast the spell, and one to smash my brick down against the chain. The metal shattered on the third try, this time two links breaking at once.

“An elf _and_ a mage,” she murmured, pulling her hand back once the chain was broken.

I glanced at her but said nothing.

Instead, I rose to my feet, waiting until she did the same. I was startled then to realize she was in a similar state of undress and had likely been taken while sleeping. She wore a nightgown, a sheer, pretty thing, her smallclothes visible beneath it. She must have been freezing.

“Here,” I said, slipping the robe off and hastily pulling it around her shoulders, “You should take this.”

She frowned at me, but after a moment, pushed her arms through the sleeves and tied the robe closed.

I was quite cold now, and though my lover’s undertunic fell well past my hips, my legs were now almost entirely bare. Neither of us had shoes, nor did we have a weapon of any sort—though, of course, I had my magic.

“What now, my noble rescuer?” she asked, and her voice still carried that same bitterness I’d heard before.

I exited the cell and reached for the oil lamp, picking it up and turning to face first one direction, then the other.

“Which way did Melaran come when he brought me?” I asked.

“I saw him carry you past my cell,” she said, pointing. “That way. That is the direction he always comes from.”

Of course. How else could she have known who I was? Though I suppose Melaran could have told her.

“Have you seen Erikur since you were captured?” I asked, as I led the way down the narrow, damp, stone hallway.

“Yes. He came to see me once, not long after I first awakened. He was here to gloat, mainly. He was certain that with me gone, Falk would withdraw his candidacy. But I suppose that wasn’t assurance enough for him, for Melaran later told me that you were his next target.”

“Melaran spoke to you, then?”

“Oh, yes. He has always been very civil to me, though I now realize that what I once mistook for civility is something… far worse, and far more sinister.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he is a man who seems to care about nothing and no one. I don’t even fully understand why he follows Erikur, for he suffers such abuses and insults from his master, yet quietly does his bidding just the same.”

We were forced to come to a stop when the hallway ended abruptly, a heavy stone door barring the way. I searched, feeling the seams of the door with my fingertips, but there did not appear to be any sort of latch or handle. We widened the search; I gave Elisif the lamp and cast a mage light for myself, but still we could find nothing. Finally, we were forced to make a decision: either wait for Erikur or Melaran to enter through the door, or turn around and travel past our cells and in the opposite direction.

“How long ago was it that Melaran first brought me?” I asked, chewing on my bottom lip—we had to make a decision, and fast, for time was of the essence. The longer I was away, the more likely that my lover would do something rash.

“Not long. Less than an hour, perhaps, though it’s so hard to tell down here.”

“So that means he probably won’t be back for several more hours.”

“I would imagine not, for he only comes to bring food and water, and to empty the slop bucket.”

I marveled at how she could speak of something so humiliating with such dignity, but I suppose it came with being a queen. Of course, I had emptied my fair share of chamber pots while in service, but that was different. Having to use a foul-smelling bucket to take care of bodily needs, then sit by and watch a man come to dump it, for you were chained to a wall and unable to do it yourself—I shuddered, relieved that I hadn’t had to suffer such an indignity myself.

Finally, I shook my head.

“I don’t think we should wait. We don’t know how long it will take before someone tries to enter through this door. And there’s no guarantee that we could defend ourselves against them.”

Elisif seemed surprised.

“But you are a mage,” she said, fixing me with a curious look.

“Yes, but so is he. And he’s a lot older than me, so probably far more skilled. And I’m—I’m not the best in combat.”

“And I have no weapon,” she said, seeming to finally agree with me. “Very well. What do you propose?”

“We head back, go in the opposite direction. I can’t tell whether we’re in some sort of cave or crypt, or just the interior of a nearby stronghold. If it’s the latter, we should be able to find a way out, assuming the other passageway isn’t a dead end.”

She nodded slowly.

“There are several abandoned strongholds near Whiterun. We could be in one of those. But the region directly south and east is very mountainous. There is an equal chance that we’re underground.”

“We’ll just have to take our chances,” I said, picking up the oil lamp again. “Come on.”

I led the way back down the hallway, past our cells and the little table the lamp had once sat on. I brushed a hand occasionally against the stone wall as we walked, for the surrounding darkness felt almost suffocating as it sought to overcome our little lamp. Our feet were bare, too, and I for one was not used to walking on dirt and bits of crumbling stone barefoot, and I doubted she was, either. Blisters were going to form soon, and that on top of the chill air now causing me to shiver was going to make for a miserable experience.

Instead of leading us to another door, the passageway seemed to become older and more abandoned the further we walked. The air started to smell, too, though I couldn’t place the odor. Whatever the case, it became clear that we were in no stronghold. We were likely in some sort of cave, perhaps a very old, abandoned mine. We still stood a very good chance of encountering an exit, and it would likely only be a matter of time before we were forced to choose between branching pathways, one or more of which would hopefully lead to aboveground.

“You must be very cold,” remarked my companion, once we’d been walking for a good fifteen minutes or so.

“A little,” I admitted, doing my best to suppress another shiver.

She was quiet for a moment, then: “It was kind of you to give me your robe.”

I smiled.

“You didn’t expect kindness from Ulfric Stormcloak’s lover,” I said, keeping my tone light.

“No,” came the quiet reply, “I did not.”

I thought she would stop there, but she didn’t.

“I don’t mean that on account of your own character but on mine,” she continued. “As I said, I’d been watching you. That you would be kind… it’s nothing to be astonished by. But after everything I said to you about your intended…”

“That’s between you and him,” I said carefully. “I understand why you must feel about him the way you do. How could I hold that against you? And even if I did agree with everything he’s done—and I haven’t said that I do—it would still be wrong to make you suffer for something so petty.”

“I can see why he fell in love with you,” she said, after a moment’s thought. “I suppose what baffles me is what made _you_ fall in love with a man like him.”

“And _that_ ,” I said, perhaps a bit too stiffly, “is between me and him.”

“I have injured you,” she said. “I didn’t mean to.”

“You haven’t. I just—I don’t like it when people question why we’re together. We’re together, and that’s all that matters, and nothing else about it is anyone else’s business but our own.”

Perhaps it was a bit harsh of me to phrase my feelings on the matter in such a way, but I was hardly in the best of moods. I was freezing, and tired—I didn’t know how long I’d been out, and magic-induced sleep is not a _restful_ sleep—and not a little bit frightened, though I think I was doing a wonderful job of hiding it. But how could I not be frightened? We didn’t know where we were going or what we might encounter. For all we know, we were hiking further towards the center of the mountain. Perhaps we’d round the next corner and come face to face with a roomful of draugr, or a group of bandits, or a cave bear. Azura’s mercy, even the ceiling could cave in at any given moment. And here we were, nearly naked, weaponless, and at the mercy of whatever could be waiting for us. Meanwhile, back at Dragonsreach, my lover was probably ready to declare war on every hold in Skyrim. Galmar would have his hands full keeping him in his right senses, and it was now up to me to set things right or else be the reason the entire country tore itself apart in civil war yet again.

Finally, we encountered a fork in the path. It was hard to determine at first, but after traveling about 20 feet or so down all three, we determined that only one appeared to be going _up_. My suspicions about this being an abandoned mine were mostly confirmed when we began to encounter mining equipment, including half-decomposed carts, chairs, and tools. We even found a cache of weapons—which I suppose, in retrospect, should have made me wonder—including several swords and a dagger. Elisif slipped a pick-axe into the belt of the robe before choosing a short sword in at least moderately good condition. I shook my head when she offered one to me, but eventually she insisted that I at least take the dagger, so I did.

At one point, we reached what was nearly a dead end.

“I don’t see any way around it,” said Elisif, holding up the lantern and inspecting the obvious cave-in. The ceiling of the tunnel had collapsed, dropping dirt, heavy stones, and broken wooden beams and nearly blocking the entire way. It had clearly happened many years ago, likely due to neglect.

“Over here,” I said, flicking my hand forward and urging my bobbing mage light to hover over the tiny space between rubble and ceiling.

“We’ll have to be careful,” said Elisif, frowning. “Watch for nails and sharp stones.”

She went first, taking her time as she went, for she still held the sword in one hand and the oil lamp in the other. I waited until her form disappeared through the small opening, then began to make my own way up. I climbed the pile of rubble carefully, my toes curling and clinging to the sharp pieces of stone and broken, rotting wood. I was able to move a bit faster than her, and could even use the dagger to stab into the earth and help pull myself up in places. I reached the top and peaked through; Elisif was on the other side, back on firm ground, holding the lamp up and waiting for me.

“Be careful,” she said, “It’s quite steep on the way down.”

I nodded, reaching for a nearby beam to steady myself as I pulled myself all the way through. That was a mistake, however, for though the broken beam had looked thoroughly wedged between two pieces of stone it evidently was not. It shifted; I stumbled—and the large pile of rubble it had been precariously holding up began to fall.

I fell with it. My mage light winked out, plunging my descent mostly into darkness, although Elisif was already rushing forward with the lamp. I landed on my side, my hip hitting the ground hard, and my palms scraping against the rock and dirt. Once the debris settled, I realized I was partially trapped, too, half my leg buried under dirt and a particularly large piece of rubble that lucky hadn’t landed directly on me.

Elisif set the lamp down and quickly gripped the piece of rubble, grunting and biting her lip, her face screwing up from the effort. I felt the dirt around my legs shift—and hurriedly tried to pull myself free. More debris fell, and we both stumbled forward, me mostly crawling as I was still on my side. We were both panting heavily, and that’s when I realized we’d been plunged into darkness, too. I tried to regain my focus and flicked my hand towards the air; thankfully, the mage light reappeared.

The lamp, however, was now buried under rock and rubble, and even if we’d managed to dig it out again, it had probably been smashed to pieces.

“That was close,” said Elisif, sitting beside me now as we tried to catch my breath. “Are you all right?”

I sat up, trying not to wince as I braced myself with my scraped palms.

“I think so.”

Together, we stood up, Elisif offering me a hand up. My hip throbbed painfully, but even worse, my knee felt… wrong somehow, as if I’d twisted or torn something. I could walk, but I knew the pain would only get worse; if I were at home or back in our room, I’d probably be ordered to seek bed rest for the next few days, just to be careful. But I didn’t exactly have that choice now.

“Well,” said Elisif, glancing back at the pile of rubble. “We definitely won’t be returning in that direction.”

I nodded. “Let’s just keep going. It can’t be much further.”

But I honestly had no idea. What did I know of mining, and how deep a shaft might tunnel into the side of a mountain? We moved more slowly now, as I was somewhat hobbling, purposefully not putting weight on my right knee so that I wouldn’t aggravate whatever injury I’d accrued in the fall. But this put more pressure on my bruised left hip, and made for rather painful going.

We once again encountered several branching pathways, and had to mostly make our selection at random. I thought of my recent experiences in the Apocrypha and got the idea that we should mark our way as we went. Luckily, there were always several loose rocks to form an arrow with, so we neither of us had to sacrifice what little clothing we had.

“Why do you think Erikur decided to kidnap us?” I asked, mostly to take my mind off my shaken nerves and the pain in my hip and knee. “I mean instead of killing us.”

“He’s as self-serving and heartless as they come,” said Elisif, frowning in the low light of the mage light, “But I don’t believe he would ever stoop to murder. Not that he has ever shed a tear for the workers who may have died under his employ.”

“He must have changed his mind,” I mused aloud.

When Elisif looked at me in question, I gave her an apologetic smile.

“Sorry. I mean I came across him and another man—I guess it must have been the servant—talking about planning an assassination. I think I remember him saying he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to go through with it or not.”

“How long ago was this?” asked Elisif, clearly shocked. “Did he know you overheard him?”

I shook my head.

“No. They knew _someone_ had heard them, but not who. It was some time ago, the night we’d first arrived here. I didn’t know it was him, of course, but now that I do know—I mean, now that I know who kidnapped us, I can put it all together in my head. It was _definitely_ his voice I head that night.”

“Did they say anything at all about who their intended target was?”

“No! I would have warned you—or someone—if I’d known.”

“I believe you. Only—so you _knew_ there was a potential assassin within Dragonsreach, yet did nothing about it?” But then she seemed to start, glancing quickly at me. “You _did_ do something about it. You told your lover.”

I nodded.

“I wanted to tell everyone, but…” I hesitated, reluctant to reveal this next part. “…He and Galmar thought it would be better if no one else knew. They were afraid it would get back to the assassins, and then they’d be able to figure out who it was who’d overheard them. I was seen by a half dozen servants that same night, racing back to my room.”

I waited for her to chastise my lover bitterly, to accuse him of selfishness. But to my surprise, she didn’t.

“That was wise of them,” she said instead. She seemed to catch me looking at her, and gave a little laugh. “You are surprised. You expected me to be angry. But your king was only protecting the one he loves. There is no shame in that; indeed, it was very honorable of him.”

I didn’t imagine that this elevated her estimation of him in any way, but still—it was a relief to know that she wouldn’t blame him—and me—for not warning the others about the assassins. Or at least what we had _thought_ were assassins; I suppose it was an even bigger relief to discover firsthand that Erikur hadn’t had the stomach to kill his targets after all. Though what his long-term plans were regarding the two of us was anyone’s guess. Perhaps he was simply playing the situation by ear. For now, it seemed he intended to secret the two of us away while those who loved us plunged the country into chaos and bloodshed.

It made me wonder, however. Kidnapping Elisif to get Falk to withdraw his candidacy actually made a sick sort of sense. But kidnapping me? It made absolutely no sense at all.

But then I remembered the sharp look he had given me the last time I had attended the moot.

It had been right when everyone had learned that Ulfric had been the one to sponsor Falk’s candidacy.

I shook my head in wonder. Could it be that Erikur’s capture of me had been based on little more than anger and revenge? Perhaps he had never meant to enrage the next High King but to simply make him suffer for supporting what he saw to be his greatest obstacle to power.

“Do you smell that?” asked Elisif suddenly.

We both stopped in our tracks. It was true: the strangely foul odor I had first noticed over an hour ago had now strengthened to such a degree that it was almost sickening.

“What is it?” I asked.

Now that I was fully aware of it, it wasn’t almost too much to bear. I lifted my arm, pressing the sleeve of my lover’s undertunic to my nose. Beside me, Elisif shook her head.

“I don’t know. Should we turn back?”

“We don’t even know where it’s coming from. Maybe we should…”

But the rest of the sentence died on the tip of my tongue. For now, past the impenetrable darkness before us, we could finally _hear_ something. Whatever it was, it was moving at a slow, steady pace, its footsteps heavy and solid. The sounds it was making—low, guttural, grunting noises, mixed in with a wet, snuffling sound, as if it were pausing to sniff at the air—sent a chill rushing through me, for it was clearly only a few feet away now.

“We should run,” whispered Elisif, her voice strained and shaking.

The creature finally drew close enough for the mage light to illuminate its form. Its three small eyes focused curiously on the bobbing mage light, ignoring the two of us at first, for we were both standing stock still. It was tall, the top of its huge head nearly scraping the ceiling. It was covered from head to toe in thick, ragged brown fur. Its long, ape-like arms nearly dragged the floor, massive claws curling and twitching on the tips of its fingers.

Troll.

Elisif grabbed my wrist and ran. I took off after her, the mage light vanishing at first, plunging us all in darkness. Behind us, the troll roared.

“Casien!” cried Elisif, “The light!”

But I couldn’t focus. We were running at top speed through the surrounding pitch darkness, and now the troll was lumbering, galloping after us.

It’s important to understand that everything that happened next all happened within a few seconds.

I tripped, and fell, actually hitting my chin on the stone floor and causing my teeth to slice through my lip.

Miraculously, for some reason, the troll passed me and continued pursuing Elisif.

I sat up.

I seemed then to recall that I was a mage, that I was not in the Apocrypha, and that I had once been considered so gifted with powerful magic that I was sent to Winterhold, lest I risk accidentally murdering someone—again.

I stood up, gathered as much wild magicka about me as I could, and flung my arms forward. The fireball that flew off the tips of my fingers engulfed the entire passageway as it plunged forward into the darkness—where it burst against the back of the troll, igniting its entire body.

The troll paused and roared.

The passageway, now lit up with the flames of my own magic, illuminated the figure of Elisif, who slipped around the flaming, flailing body of the troll. She managed to drag and slice her sword across one of its legs before racing back towards me, grabbing me by the wrist again, and yanking me with her.

By now I had finally brought the mage light back. It bounced before us, seeming to pulsate with my breath as we raced further up the mine shaft.

“Is it following us?” I panted, stumbling as I tried to look back over my shoulder.

Elisif grabbed my arm this time, yanking me forward again.

“Doesn’t matter! Keep running!”

Roar after roar followed us as we ran, the troll bellowing out its pain and its fury. We had passed several other passageways in our frantic run and were surely in grave danger of being lost down here, for we now had no way of retracing our steps. Eventually, we found what appeared to be a side-passage, for it was smaller than the regular shaft and required us to step up to reach it. I thought it likely this might lead to freedom, for perhaps it had been originally created to provide quick access to the surface. Even better, it was far too small and narrow for the troll to follow us—assuming it was even capable of doing so.

Eventually, however, I was forced to stop. I had mostly caught my breath, but pain was shooting through my twisted knee, and my bruised hip was throbbing more than ever.

“Wait,” I said, leaning against the wall so as to take some of the weight off my knee. “Can we rest for a moment?”

Elisif turned and looked back at me, her eyebrows rising.

“You’re injured,” she said, hurrying back. She put my arm around her shoulder and then gently helped lower me to the ground so I could sit, leaning my back against the passageway wall. “I noticed you limping earlier, but I didn’t realize…” She looked at me, frowning. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

I shrugged, sucking on my now swollen bottom lip, though fortunately it had stopped bleeding.

“Would you, if you looked like me?”

I knew my response wouldn’t make an ounce of sense to her, and sure enough, she tilted her head, the question already on the tip of her tongue, no doubt.

I waved a hand at her, shaking my head and closing my eyes.

“Don’t mind me. It just gets exhausting, you know? Being the only Dunmer around all you Nords. You’re always going on and on about battle and honor and strength, and here I am…” I gave a tired little laugh. “I mean, gods, look at me. I can barely make it through this mine without physically falling apart.”

I heard her settle down beside me, and when I opened my eyes, she looked rather thoughtful.

“I suppose I hadn’t really considered your position,” she said. “Does he make it hard for you?”

I shook my head again.

“Not on purpose. He just seems to think I’m so much more than I really am. _Strong in his own way._ That’s what he told Galmar.” I laughed again. “What does that even mean?”

“I think it means he must care for you a great deal.”

“I know he does. It’s like, I know it, but on some level I refuse to accept it. I like being who I am, and I’m proud of my heritage. But sometimes I just… wish I could be a little more like the rest of you.”

She snorted. “What, arrogant and proud?”

“Pride isn’t such a bad thing. My people could stand to be a little prouder of themselves sometimes, at least back in Windhelm. But I don’t know. It isn’t easy being so little and…” I scrunched my face up, “ _pretty_.”

Honestly, if I never got called ‘pretty’ again for the rest of my life I’d surely die a happy man. I mean, I’m glad I wasn’t born with a huge wart on my nose or crossed eyes or whatever, but there was just something condescending about the way people sometimes talked about my looks. Not that I truly minded when my lover called me _beautiful_ , of course, but…

Elisif gave a little huff and smiled.

“I think I can relate to that one a little. People have been calling me ‘fair’ ever since I was a little girl. _‘Elisif Fairchild,’_ they’d say, when I was just ten and crying over my parents’ tombs. Now I am _Elisif the Fair._ Fair! What kind of name is that for a Nord?”

“It has a noble sound to it though.” I couldn’t help smiling a little. “I don’t think I should mind being called _Casien the Fair_.”

“You would mind it, if that were all anyone saw in you.”

I supposed she was right. I remembered how the Solitude thanes had talked about her at the moot, how she was frequently referred to as a ‘girl’ or a ‘child,’ how she’d had to rely on Falk completely to run her hold. Maybe to some degree that was true, for she had been young and grieving. But there was just something condescending about the way they talked about her, too—even those who professed to love her.

“Why _did_ you come to Whiterun?” I asked, turning my head to face her again.

“Falk felt it would be unwise to leave me alone in Solitude. I assured him that he was over exaggerating any danger to me, but he insisted. So I traveled with him, in secret. I have been staying at the Bannered Mare, along with two guards that have been loyal to my family. I admit it’s been… freeing, walking through Whiterun without anyone knowing who I was.”

“Ulfric’s been acting the same way,” I said, thinking about how over-protective he’d been ever since we’d left Windhelm. “He wouldn’t let me go anywhere alone, and insisted I always have a guard with me.”

“Well,” she said, smiling, “I suppose we showed them, didn’t we!”

I grinned.

“Yep. Safe as safe can be. Couldn’t be _safer_ , really.”

We both laughed. In that moment, I felt the unlikeliest of things: that we weren’t so different, she and I. In fact, she _could_ have been me, had I lost Ulfric the same way she’d lost Torygg. How different my life would have been, shrouded in grief and regret and bitterness.

Eventually, I declared myself rested enough to resume walking. I was still in a fair bit of pain, but I felt it more important that we press on and try to find a way out of here. The passage we were in remained small, sometimes so small we had to stoop to pass through it, but it continued to trek steadily uphill, too. Soon we began to notice what looked, oddly enough, like silver, glistening pieces of lace etched over the sides and ceiling of the passage. I moved the mage light closer and brushed my fingers over the lacey pattern; it was sticky and stringy, not a little unlike—

“Cobweb,” said Elisif, gazing down at my fingers.

Our eyes met.

Spiders.

Giant spiders were said to dwell in underground dens like this, so it wasn’t surprising that a group of them might have repurposed an abandoned mine. There was little point in turning back; for one thing, if spiders really had made a nest close by, that meant the surface wasn’t far either. For another, returning the way we’d come meant potentially encountering a half-burnt, angry troll, and there was no guarantee that we had even been traveling in the right direction in the first place. We couldn’t stay stuck in the abandoned mine forever; we had no food or water, and we were both already exhausted. I didn’t relish being forced to fall asleep here.

Finally, the passageway opened up into a large room—though it seemed clear the room hadn’t been made by human, mer, or beast-folk hands. It was oddly shaped, but more noticeably, it was covered floor to ceiling in shimmering, silvery cobweb. Large, oval sacks hung from the ceiling in places, and bones lay scattered on the floor around our feet.

“I’m starting to regret coming this way,” murmured Elisif, as we carefully picked our way across the room.

“We didn’t exactly have much choice,” I said, wincing as I accidentally stepped on something sharp—hopefully a rock and _not_ someone’s dead grandparent—with my bare foot.

Everything seemed fine at first. We passed through the large room as quietly as possible, and neither heard nor saw anything to indicate that we weren’t still totally alone. The narrow passage, though, continued to be utterly caked with webbing, and several times Elisif had to use her sword to cut through a piece. We passed several smaller openings, each of these even more buried in webbing than the next, and several bearing those same oddly-shaped sacks.

We passed into a second room, this one a little larger than the first.

“Is it just me or is the air starting to smell fresher?” I asked, trying to be cheerful.

“Actually, I think—wait.” We both stopped, and she turned to look at me with wide eyes. “Did you hear that?”

I did. A skittering sound, as if many fingers or toes tapping against something.

Elisif gripped her sword in both hands.

“I should tell you,” she said, her eyes now darting to every corner of the room. “I don’t really care for spiders.”

I did learn something about spiders that night, funnily enough. And I suppose I always like learning new things. But their eyes glow in the darkness, almost like wolves. It was quite the disturbing thing, really, to see the light from my mage light suddenly reflected in four pairs of beady eyes.

And then, of course, another four, and another. And another.

“Can’t you light them on fire?” asked Elisif, her hands trembling slightly as she pointed the sword towards the first giant spider creeping towards us from the darkness.

I shook my head.

“Too much webbing,” I muttered, for the room was _covered_ in it, and igniting it on fire would surely ignite _us_ , too.

“Well? Don’t you know any other spells?!” The words flew from her mouth in a panic, as the spider finally skittered quickly towards us. As if on cue, all the others started to do the same; some were now even dropping from the ceiling above us.

The thing is, I _did_ know other spells. Quite a lot of them, actually. I was apparently some kind of natural genius at destruction magic, or so everyone had kept telling me at the college. Only I didn’t care for it, feared hurting people and animals every time I used it, lest my overpowered abilities exceed my ability to control them.

And there was the fact that I’d almost been killed myself with destruction magic, when I’d foolishly faced off against one of the greatest necromancers in all of Skyrim.

I acted without thinking, breathing in, simultaneously pulling in the magicka around me. Ice magic isn’t like fire magic; fire magic wants to _go_. You tell the air to move, move faster, get _hotter_ , and it does. Ice magic— _don’t move_ you say. Go still, squeeze tight, grow cold, so cold you’re frozen solid.

Elisif swung her sword down at the first spider, missing it as it skittered adeptly aside—and I flung my hand in a wide arc from my chest, sending a spray of ice spikes which immediately imbedded themselves into the spider’s body.

“That works,” said Elisif, panting lightly.

It certainly did. The spider was dead in its tracks, green ichor oozing from its now twitching, bulbous body, legs still jerking on reflex.

I turned and hurled another spell at the next spider, then another, and another. Then Elisif grabbed me and pulled me aside before one above us could lower itself down from the ceiling, right on top of our heads.

“Your little light!” she cried, as I continued frantically flinging spikes at angry spiders. “Can you make it bigger? Brighter?”

“I think so!” I said.

“Do it!!”

So I did. I poured magicka into the little mage light; it expanded, blowing up like the sun and filling the foul room with bright, magnificent light. I winced and covered my eyes, but I wasn’t the only one unused to such bright light—the spiders all screamed, skittering back, trying to shuffle back into the darkness.

“A way out!” cried Elisif, grabbing my hand. “I see it!”

She pulled me along with her, and together we raced down the small passageway, my mage light, shrunk down to its usual size, bobbing along with us. The skittering sound of many legs told me that at least some of the spiders were following. But the further we ran, the more I noticed the webbing starting to thin out. So this time when I thought I saw four pairs of eyes advancing on us from behind, I flung a fireball at it—and was rewarded with the shrillest scream of pain I’d ever heard.

I continued to do so, hurling fireballs back behind me, that is, until it began to seem as if we were no longer being followed. Eventually, we slowed our pace to a walk. My limp was pretty severe by now, and I bit down continuously on the inside of my cheek to try and take my mind off the pain.

“Wait…” I finally said, pausing to lean against the side of the passageway. “I don’t think I can keep going.”

I wasn’t being overly dramatic. Each step now caused intense pain to shoot up the inside of my knee. My hip still hurt, too, but that was nothing compared to my knee, and the same could be said for my scraped palms, bruised chin, and bitten lip.

Elisif paused and turned to look back at me. She opened her mouth, probably to suggest we rest, but stopped abruptly, her mouth still half-open.

She looked forward again, then back at me—no, past me.

“I think…” she began, cautious wonder in her voice. “The way ahead is… _brighter_ …” Her fixed on mine again. “Your mage light. Get rid of it!”

I did so, gladly, for it was a constant drain on my magical stamina. We of course were plunged immediately in darkness—but she was right. I blinked, and peered forward. I _could_ see vague light ahead.

“You’re right,” I breathed.

Realizing we were nearly free lent me renewed vigor, and I eagerly did my best to push the pain aside as we continued onward. Before long, the mouth of the cave—spider hole? Mine shaft? At this point, I genuinely had no idea _what_ we were in—whatever it was, it finally opened out into the surrounding forest, which even now was being bathed in the light of early morning.

I went to lean immediately against the nearest tree that looked as if it could bear my weight. I was exhausted; there was no telling just how long I’d been out from Melaran’s spell, but it was obvious now that we’d been traveling all night. Elisif, though, moved forward, climbing atop a small hill and gazing out, towards the north, I thought, and presumably in the direction of the city.

“I see someone!” she said. “Hallo!!”

She waved her arms in the air, after a second even removing the robe and waving that as well. I wasn’t entirely sure we wanted to attract the attention of some random person, for we were hardly in a position to defend ourselves—but nor did I have the energy at this point to object.

Soon the sound of hoof beats were pounding towards us. The man pulled his horse back into a trot as he approached us, before pausing and gazing down at us in obvious alarm.

“Lord Casien!” he cried, his mouth falling open slightly.

It was, of all people, Harrald Law-Giver.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So annoyed with myself that I didn't share the songs that inspired me most for the previous two chapters. That awful fight Casien and Ulfric shared, and subsequent cold shoulder Ulfric gave Casien, have been in my head for months. It was one of the earliest scenes/moments I imagined for this story. 
> 
> Probably the most inspirational song is ["Both Sides Now"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aCnf46boC3I) by Joni Mitchell. Oof. That's a rough one.
> 
> But also Damien Rice's ["Cold Water"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_rPeRkVmCtg)


	21. Chapter 21

“By the Nine!” cried Harrald, immediately pulling up his horse and gazing down at me in apparent shock and dismay. “You’re alive!”

The exclamation put me immediately on my guard—which, I think, given everything I had been through thus far, was rather understandable.

“I am,” I said, doing my best to stand up again, my shoulders straightening.

“The entire city thinks you’re dead!” he said, and once I could detect the genuine relief in his voice and features I almost sagged with relief myself.

“As you can see, we are not dead,” said Elisif, standing tall and proud in my borrowed robe, her sword gripped loosely in her right hand. “And we require the use of your horse, so that we might return with all due haste to the leaders of this country.”

“Who is this?” asked Harrald, giving me a confused look.

“Lady Elisif of Solitude,” replied the lady herself.

Harrald blinked and stared at her as if he couldn’t quite believe the words that had just left her mouth. But then he seemed to shake himself, and hastily dismounted.

“Of course you may have my horse,” he said. “And by the gods—Lord Casien, you should know, your intended is well on his way to starting another civil war over your disappearance! You need to return to Whiterun as quickly as possible!”

He first removed the deer and brace of rabbits that were slung behind the saddle, along with his bow—he’d obviously been spending the early hours of the morning hunting. He then held the horse’s bridle while Elisif mounted, then was gracious and kind enough to help me mount behind her. It was rather awkward, as I was, well, not wearing any pants, but he was very polite about it. It was with excruciating pain that I leaned into my left hip to swing my injured right knee over the horse’s withers, and I probably held onto Elisif a little too tightly as I did so, but she said nothing about it.

“I only wish I had a cloak or a coat or— _something_ —to offer you,” he said, gazing earnestly up at us both. “Gods speed, and don’t mind about me. I’ll make my way back to the city on foot.”

I nodded, but his eyes held mine only for a second before flicking back towards Elisif. _Oh_ , I thought, and were I in better spirits, and not going nearly numb with pain in one hip, I might have actually smiled. For her part, Elisif paid her new admirer no more mind and pulled his horse around, tapping her bare heels into its sides to send it quickly from a walk to a trot and into a full gallop. I hastily wrapped my arms around her waist and closed my eyes; I couldn’t even bite my lip against the pain the horse’s movements were causing me, for my bottom lip was still sore. But though the pain was excruciating, it was necessary. Harrald’s words had chilled me to the bone, even more than the cool mid-spring Whiterun air. We needed to return to the city, and to Dragonsreach, as quickly as possible.

We came upon the farmsteads in less than a few minutes. Of course, had we been forced to walk—something I’m not sure I would have been capable of—it may have taken us several hours, especially since even Elisif’s feet were likely bruised and bleeding at this point. Still, the entrance to the abandoned mine that Erikur and his servant had used couldn’t be more than a few minutes’ walk from the outer city limits. The exit we’d used had taken us far in the opposite direction.

Elisif slowed the horse down to a trot as we neared the city gates. People were gazing up at us in confusion and alarm, though I don’t think thus far anyone managed to recognize me.

This changed once we passed through the gates themselves.

“Wait,” I said, pulling on Elisif’s arm to get her attention.

She pulled the horse up, the animal tossing its head and sending flecks of foam into the air.

“You’re Ulfric’s elf!” cried one of the guards, and some of his fellows who’d raised their weapons on instinct at our wild approach, lowered them in alarm.

“I am,” I said. “I was kidnapped, along with my companion.” I wasn’t quite sure it was prudent to reveal Elisif’s identity. “Make sure that Erikur of Solitude doesn’t leave the city. And if you see him, detain him!”

The guard who had addressed me was gaping up at me, clearly still stunned by my arrival and appearance. But the one next to him seemed to come more quickly to his senses, and frowned, shaking his head.

“With respect, m’lord. You aren’t our jarl. We don’t take orders—

“Look at us!” cried Elisif, holding up her arm and displaying the wrist that still had a steel cuff and chain attached to it. “We were kidnapped! In _your_ city, guardsman! Do you take no responsibility for that? If you do, then you will spread the word about the man who kidnapped us and see that he steps not one foot outside these walls!”

Both guards hesitated before finally saluting, as did the others now gathered around us all.

“Yes, my lady!” said the guard who’d initially expressed his uncertainty.

Elisif nodded and heeled the horse forward again. I looked behind me, and saw one of the lieutenants now barking orders and pointing; two guards hurried to mount horses while others raced up the stairs to the ramparts.

Soon we left the gate and the guards behind us. Elisif urged the horse into a canter, only pulling it back into a brisk trot when the streets became too crowded. People exclaimed when they saw us, some pointing and clearly recognizing me now.

“Stand aside!” said Elisif, as we entered the busy market square, and the shifting crowd before us became almost impenetrable.

“Please!” I said, “We need to get to Dragonsreach!”

They must have taken pity on us—even those who’d once shot me wary looks or refused to sell to me because of who I traveled and purportedly slept with. I had little doubt Elisif and I made a pitiful sight: nearly naked as we were, our bare legs bruised, our feet bleeding. People began calling out for the crowd to part, to let us pass. Eventually, the crowd thinned enough for us to move forward again, and we quickly left the marketplace behind.

Dragonsreach now loomed into view. Elisif surprised me as we approached its stone steps; rather than pull the horse up at the stables, she urged it forward. The animal tossed its head a few times and flicked its tail but it obeyed, startling the guards as it clattered up the steps. Finally, at the top, a group of guards finally barred our way, though they as yet had not drawn their weapons.

I slide from the horse’s back, gritting my teeth against the pain that jarred through both my legs.

“Where are the jarls?” I said.

“Gathered inside, my lord,” said the woman in charge, and it was clear she knew who I was.

“You must find and arrest Erikur of Solitude,” I said. “Don’t let him escape!”

She nodded and immediately ordered her people to head to the various castle exits. Several others hurried towards the main entrance and disappeared inside. Meanwhile, beside me, Elisif dismounted as well. She looped one of my arms around her shoulders, and together we made our way forward.

The guard in charge opened the door for us, nodding as we passed.

The great hall was abuzz with activity. The guards who had slipped in before us had hurried forward, heading no doubt to the council room. Several others went upstairs, presumably making for Erikur’s room. The steps leading up to the banquet area loomed before us, and I suddenly paused and shook my head.

“I can’t,” I said to Elisif, tears of pain now actually stinging the corners of my eyes. “I can’t go any further, I’m sorry.”

She looked at me, anxious pity in her eyes. But we didn’t have to go any further. A great rush of footsteps were suddenly approaching us, and we looked up to see all of the most important people in Skyrim coming quickly towards us. The guards had done their duty, too, and two of them marched a struggling Erikur between them, the man crying out about being wrongfully accused, and how could anyone trust the word of an elf and a disgraced whore of a queen?

“By the Nine!” cried Laila, looking uncharacteristically shocked as she gazed down at us. The others had all paused and stared as well, including Falk, who, after a moment, began to descend the stairs towards us. But Elisif held a hand up, stopping him, and he pressed his lips together, his hands folding into fists.

Ulfric, of course, had taken one look at me. Our eyes met—his face went deathly pale, and my heart dropped into my stomach, for I knew… a strangled roar of rage and pain seemed to bubble up from his chest, and he whirled around, drew his longsword from its sheath, and advanced towards the still struggling and protesting Erikur.

Screams of fear mingled with calls for order. I saw Galmar attempt to intercept my lover, but he wasn’t fast enough. Several brave guards unsheathed their own weapons and stepped between Erikur and the jarl of Windhelm, but I knew it wouldn’t be enough.

“Ulfric, NO!” I cried.

My voice rang out over the sounds of the crowd, echoing in the large hall. My lover paused. His hands holding his sword trembled slightly before he gradually lowered it. I could see the muscles in his jaw clenching under his beard as he continued to stare at Erikur, who’d grown still, his eyes huge and terrified.

“Is it true,” Ulfric finally rumbled, his low voice easily audible in the now silent chamber. “Is he the one who did this to you?”

“He is,” I said. “But he should be brought to justice. Not murdered in front of everyone, as if we were in the middle of a battlefield. Please,” I added, feeling my own voice begin to tremble slightly. “Please don’t kill anyone for my sake.”

Finally, his sword lowered completely. He seemed to take a great breath before sheathing it, giving Erikur one more look before turning to gaze down at me. His face paled again, and my heart went out to him—I knew it hurt him tremendously to see me as I was now, and to know that despite all his efforts, I had suffered greatly.

“The crime, if it can be proven,” said Laila, her own voice steady again, “as I no doubt believe it will be—has been committed in Whiterun. It therefore falls under the purview of Whiterun’s jarl.”

Several of the others looked to Olfina, who was also gazing down at me in shock. After a moment, she seemed to collect herself, and nodded towards the guards.

“Take the prisoner to the dungeon,” she said. “We will hold him for now. But I believe, since he is a citizen of Solitude, that that city should decide his fate.”

“Solitude has no jarl,” said Bryling. Her eyes were sharp as she gazed down at her lover, who seemed to close his own eyes for a moment, realizing what must happen.

“No,” he agreed. “But perhaps she soon will.”

I looked to Ulfric, to see if this would please him—but he was still looking down at me. He looked as if he were struggling not to scream, not to smash every object in the hall.

I opened my mouth, my eyes finally starting to blur, but I didn’t know what to say. In that moment, it felt as if everyone else in the room had faded away, and it was just the two of us. I wanted to apologize for what I had done, for lying to him, for breaking my promise. For being foolish, for never truly taking the threat against me seriously.

I watched as he came towards me. Several others moved quickly out of his way, but he didn’t seem to see them. He descended the steps, and I didn’t protest at all. Instead, I leaned against him, my tired legs finally buckling beneath me; he caught me in one smooth movement, lifting me and cradling me to his chest. I closed my eyes and leaned my cheek against his shoulder.

I don’t know what else happened after that. I only know that my lover carried me silently out of that room. I heard the voices of the others, but they all blended together, and in that moment I cared for none of them and nothing. All that mattered was that we were together again, that I was safe, and he was not angry with me.

He carried me through the halls and up the stairs. I heard doors opening and closing, servants and guards passing, murmuring to one another. Finally, we arrived at our rooms; the guard stationed there must have opened the door for us, for my lover’s grip did not slacken.

He lay me down on the bed, and I finally looked up at him again. My body felt tired and broken, but inside my heart sang, and I couldn’t help blinking away tears as guilt and joy struggled within me.

“I’m sorry,” I finally said. “I’m—

“No,” he interrupted, his own voice rough. “No, it is I—I who am—

But he couldn’t seem to finish. I realized with some alarm that his own lips were trembling slightly, and his eyes were shining. _Oh_ , I thought, and I did the only thing I could think to do in that moment, which was to sit up, lean into his trembling embrace, and let him hold me.

He wept as he did, his hands shaking slightly as they held me at first before squeezing and stroking me tenderly. His chest heaved, and I blinked tears aside as well, for I couldn’t help but be moved by his reaction. The fingers of one hand now stroked lovingly through my hair, and he kissed the side of my head, both our cheeks more than a little damp now.

“I thought I’d lost you,” he said, his voice still rough and shaking. “That you had been killed, that you—” He paused, taking a great, trembling breath. “I would have gone to war. I would have done such terrible things. And in my heart I would have blamed my love for you, as if my own actions were absolved.”

“Don’t,” I said, pulling away, just far enough so that my eyes could meet his. “Please don’t punish yourself. _He_ did this. But he failed, and you didn’t lose me. I promise you’ll _never_ lose me, so long as I have anything to say about it.”

But his eyes lowered, as if he couldn’t bear to meet my own. I reached up, cupping his face between my hands, forcing him to look at me.

“You are a good man,” I said. “And good men make good kings, even if they don’t always say or do the right thing. You can’t be or do more than what you are, and I _love_ all that you are. Please, believe, for my sake at least—Ulfric, you are _good._ ”

He nodded, finally, and I moved to lean against him again, closing my eyes and letting him hold me for as long as he needed.

Eventually, there was a gentle but persistent knock at the door. It was some time before Ulfric could withdraw himself from my embrace, breathe in, quickly swipe the heels of his hands over his eyes, and call over his shoulder for the person to enter.

It was Galmar. He came in, carrying a satchel of what looked like blacksmith’s tools. He set the bag down, nodding almost deferentially to us both.

“Well, you’ve both had your cry now. Lay the lad out, Ulfric, and let’s take a look at him. I’ve sent for a healer, but the jarl’s is out for the day, so they’ve called in someone from the city and it may be a while.”

All my little hurts and aches seemed to return to me tenfold then. Though I had practically marched up to Dragonsreach in nothing but an undertunic and smallclothes, I was suddenly shy and embarrassed to be seen by Galmar in such a state. The older man naturally paid my bashfulness no mind. He and Ulfric examined the bruise on my hip and determined it to be nothing serious. Galmar felt the swelling of my knee and declared the ligament twisted or torn; only time would tell which. He then instructed Ulfric to carry me to the wash room so that he could wash the dirt and rubble from my bleeding feet.

Afterward, Galmar dug through the satchel he’d brought, trying out several tools before finding the right ones needed to remove the shackle around my wrist. I saw the fire reignite in the king’s eyes as his friend held the ruined bit of metal up for a moment, frowning at it before tossing it and the tools back into the bag. The skin around my wrist, where the shackle had sat, was seen to be bruised and scraped in places, but luckily my initial awkward attempts to free myself hadn’t resulted in any serious injuries to my wrist and hand.

Finally, the healer arrived. A salve was applied to the back of my knee and another to the bottom of my feet, which were then swathed in thick bandages. Several tonics were then forced upon me, some to prevent infection, others to combat against inflammation—one, surely, to help me sleep. I felt its effects even as the healer was packing up and leaving a few last minute instructions with my lover. I gazed up at the ceiling for a moment, the bedcovers pulled up to my now bare chest, and slowly let my eyes slide closed. I was only distantly aware of someone coming to sit back down beside me, the mattress dipping slightly. Then a warm kiss was pressed against my brow, fingers stroking my cheek… but soon I was asleep and knew no more for the time being.

I slept almost the rest of that day entirely away. Ulfric had wanted me to eat and drink something, but the healer had recommended sleep. I woke up once or twice and was given a glass of water, but fell almost immediately back asleep. By the time I did wake up feeling finally well rested, the sun had already sunk behind the mountains, and the only light in our room came from the fireplace and the various lamps and candles about the room.

“You’re awake.”

I turned my head and saw my lover, seemingly returning from the outer door with a tray of food in his hands. Perhaps it had been the servant’s knocking which had woken me in the first place.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, coming to sit beside me on the bed and laying the tray over my lap. I sat up carefully, shivering a little as the bedcovers fell away from my chest and shoulders.

Seeing this, he got up and went to our trunk, retrieving a tunic for me. I pulled it on, yawning, and hoping my stomach wouldn’t gurgle from the delicious smell of the hot stew, freshly baked bread, and still sizzling tarts which had been placed before me—I was famished.

We ate quietly together. He asked me how I felt; I said I was a little tired. My hip throbbed dully, but I didn’t think it important enough to mention. I was warm and comfortable and safe.

“How is Elisif?” I thought to ask.

“Well, or so Galmar informs me.”

I paused to give him a fond, indulgent smile.

“You haven’t left this room,” I said. “Have you?”

I couldn’t see his expression very well in the low-lighting, but I think he was smiling, ever so slightly.

“Falk has spoken to Galmar and agreed privately to accept the position of jarl, if he is so chosen. Galmar and Ania have been working to win over the others all afternoon.”

“Ania the diplomat,” I said, somewhat disbelieving. “I should like to have seen that.”

“I believe Hellina accompanied her on her visits with each of the jarls.”

I snorted. “So I take it things went well then.”

“As I understand it. We will resume our talks tomorrow. But I believe Laila has finally given up on Gisli. Even if she played no part in her brother’s treasonous behavior, it would not look well for her to ascend now.”

_Treasonous_. How strange to think that any act committed against me must be termed as such. Though we were not yet married, I knew we would be, some day. And at this point, the entire realm seemed to know it, too. Well, not that I imagined farmers in Rorikstead cared much about who the High King of Skyrim married, but even so.

I pushed my scraggly hair absently out of my eyes as I finished off my tart, and he smiled, reaching over to comb his fingers through it.

“Would you like me to draw you a bath?” he asked.

I smirked. “Are you trying to say I’m a little on the filthy side right now?”

“Hm.” He chuckled. “I am saying I can scarcely see your lovely face anymore, buried as it is under all that dust and dirt.”

I sighed and gave his shoulder a nudge, trying not to smile. “You’re the worst. And yes, I would very much like a bath, thank you.”

He got up then to go begin pouring the water while I finished off the rest of my dinner and tea. When he returned, I set the tray aside, pulled the tunic back off, and pushed the bedcovers aside. I was naked, of course, as even my smallclothes had pressed painfully against my hip, and there was no need to wear them in bed anyway. Ulfric lifted me carefully, and though a lance of pain shot through my stiffened knee, it was nowhere near as painful as it had been earlier. Once in the washroom, I said I had to make use of the toilet, so he set me down again. I shuffled over to it on bandaged feet and sat down on it as though I were a child again—my dignity could be put on hold for now, so long as my poor feet ached beneath the bandages.

Afterward, we removed all the bandages, and he helped me step into the tub. The steaming hot water felt miraculous against my chilled skin, and I was pleased to see he had even used some of the little oils and soaps I’d come to love here in Whiterun.

He knelt down beside the tub, clearly intending to sit with me. I didn’t mind at all, and thought I might entice him into washing my hair—not that it would require much persuasion on my part, I imagined. But then I had an even better idea.

“Why don’t you join me?” I asked.

He arched an eyebrow at me. Again, I couldn’t see his expression too well, but suddenly realizing what he thought I was suggesting made me blush and laugh.

“Not for _that_!” I cried, sweeping my hand through the water a bit to playfully splash him. “I mean to just sit with me. It’ll be… nice.”

I suppose I didn’t want to simply admit that I quite longed to snuggle with my lover in the warm, scented bathwater after everything I’d been through. But I think he got the picture, for he only murmured a “Very well” before getting to his feet, removing his clothing, and climbing into the bath behind me.

He settled in, and I leaned against him, sighing and closing my eyes. I’m sure I had the most contented smile on my face, too, for I don’t think in that moment I could have possibly been happier. Less than 24 hours ago I had awoken in a freezing cold cell, defenseless, alone (or so I initially thought), and practically naked. It seemed a minor miracle that I was now back in my room, safe and warm, and lounging in the arms of my lover.

“What are you thinking?” he prompted after a while.

I smiled, my eyes still closed.

“That I’m very lucky. Maybe even the luckiest man alive.”

“Oh?” He draped his arms around me, squeezing gently. “In what way?”

I snorted. “Fishing for compliments is _not_ very attractive, I’ll have you know.”

He chuckled, and reached up to actually ruffle my hair, startling me.

“Lean back and let me wash your hair.”

It was… lovely, really, letting myself be so thoroughly and lovingly cared for. True, he had tended to my needs when I’d been sick with my fever, but I somehow had a new appreciation for his gentle ministrations—the slow and careful way he massaged the soap into my hair, or the way he gently held the back of my head as he rinsed the suds away. These were the little things stories and books about love leave out, I thought, as I closed my eyes and leaned back against him again, smiling as he began to rub the sponge over my shoulders and chest.

“Hold out your arms,” he said, amusement tinging his voice, and I did, allowing him to soap those up, too.

“How are you going to reach my toes?” I teased, lifting one foot up out of the water and wiggling them playfully.

“That depends. Though I happen to know you are rather flexible.”

I snorted again and smacked him, then took the sponge from him and washed my legs and feet. He did my back for me, then I nestled back against his chest and tried very hard not to fall back asleep. I felt him brush the wet hair back from my face and place a kiss against my temple. I smiled.

“Do you ever wonder what might have happened if we’d never met?” I asked.

I’m not sure where the thought had come from. Maybe I wanted to remind myself yet again that I had a great deal to be grateful for.

“It is not a thought I wish to frequently entertain,” he said. “To be alone again, to have no one with whom to share my thoughts, my burdens, my fears … no, little roebuck. I do not think of it often.”

I was surprised and humbled by his response, and it was a moment before I could answer.

“I’m glad you feel you can share those things with me,” I said.

“As am I.” He paused, then: “And you? Do you imagine your life without me in it?”

“Sometimes,” I admitted. “More to remind myself how lucky I’ve been. There are so many others—Dunmer, Argonians, even Nords—who struggle each and every day, just to put food on the table or care for their sick family members. That was my life once, and now… it isn’t anymore. I’m grateful for it, but I sometimes wonder if I don’t take it for granted.”

“If you must ask yourself that question, then the humility you believe you harbor in your heart must still be present.”

“I suppose. But I hope I never forget where I’ve come from, or how easily I might still be where I once was—had I never met you.”

“Consort to a king or not, you would always have done something with your life. I know your heart well, and it is not a heart content with the bare necessities of life. You would always strive for more, always reach for that which is momentarily beyond your grasp.”

Perhaps he was right about me, and what might have been. Suppose I had _not_ fallen in love with Windhelm’s jarl. I would have eventually grown weary of my life in the palace kitchens. Once I’d managed to save enough money, I have little doubt I would have used it to travel. Perhaps to the south, or perhaps even to Winterhold College. A life of idle drudgery had never been for me, so long as opportunity for otherwise lurked around the next corner.

The water was beginning to cool, so I reluctantly agreed to pull the drain and let him dry me off—I had to sit on the side of the tub to do so, for now the water had made my feet even more tender than before, so standing was out of the question. He then carried me back to the bed, and reapplied the salves before wrapping my knee and feet. He did a very good job of it, too—it was good that at least _one_ of us had been paying attention to the healer.

I yawned, settling down begrudgingly back against the pillows.

“How can I be _so_ tired after sleeping the entire day away?” I complained.

He chuckled, leaning forward to arrange the bed sheets and blankets comfortably around me.

“The body craves sleep when it is healing. You will feel much better tomorrow.”

“I hope so.” I looked up at him, curious. “It’s still awfully early. What will you do with yourself? You must be terribly bored, having been cooped up here all day.”

“I have not been bored. I slept a good part of the morning away, as I imagine many here did. Afterward, I had many letters to read and write, and several people visited while you continued to sleep. Unfortunately for them, it was I who was forced to entertain them.”

I blinked. “Really? Who?”

“Your friends from the college. Galmar and his family. Jarl Olfina and her future consort came by as well.”

I was momentarily stunned—and moved—to hear that so many had been anxious to see how I was doing. But I supposed I oughtn’t to have been surprised. I certainly would have wanted to see them, had they been injured and in need of nursing and recovery.

“And I have told Galmar to come and see me very late tonight,” he continued. “We will sit in the sitting room, and speak very softly so as not to wake you.”

“If I _do_ happen to be awake, I’ll come and join you,” I said, not quite sure why I was feeling so stubborn about it.

“If you like,” he replied, and now it was his turn to smile indulgently at me.

He was right, of course, as he so often was. Once I fell asleep—and it happened with frustrating quickness, too—I did not awaken again, not until sometime in the middle of the night. Even then, I was scarcely _truly_ awake, only enough to be aware of the person now sleeping beside me, his warmth pressing against my own, one limp arm curled protectively around me.

I smiled, and soon drifted back to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Harrald x Elisif ... a cute as heck pairing I would love to make happen but have no earthly idea how.
> 
> ~~Also, what happened to Melaran.~~ 👀


	22. Chapter 22

My recovery proceeded at a comfortable, if not overly rapid, pace. My bruised hip scarcely even ached that first morning, and by the end of the day, it only hurt if I poked it unnecessarily. I adhered to the healer’s recommended bed-rest as best I could, but Ulfric was gone during the day, and I wasn’t going to ask anyone else to carry me to the wash room. Even so, within a few days, my feet had healed completely. My knee was far more stubborn, but thankfully it appeared only twisted and not torn. The swelling was quick to recede, and the healer, after visiting me a second time, felt sure that I would be walking without pain again in no more than a week.

Meanwhile, the moot continued. Erikur remained in prison, and so long as Solitude’s seat remained unfilled, his fate was in limbo, though it seemed almost certain he would spend the rest of his life confined within that city’s dungeons. As for his elven servant, he was nowhere to be found. We could only guess that he had learned of his master’s capture and made himself scarce as quickly as possible. No great effort was made to find him, for though his crimes were equal to those of the one he had served, alone he was considered to be no great threat, for he had only been acting under Erikur’s direction.  

Ulfric’s support of Falk Firebeard for jarl of Haafingar Hold had finally gained traction, though it took the imprisonment of the brother of Laila’s own favorite to finally force her to give her up and come over to our side. Once she did, the others quickly fell in line. I felt uneasy—and I knew Galmar did, too—at there now being a jarl who hated my own future husband with an intensity that didn’t seem likely to slacken any time soon, but Ulfric assured us it was the best move for Solitude and her people, as well as the hold’s surrounding towns and villages.

Morthal took a surprisingly long time to settle, for it was a small fishing town, the capital of Hjaalmarch based solely on the fact that there were no larger towns in the entire hold. It had close ties to Solitude, and its politics were thus closely wound up in that great city. Ultimately, the jarls settled on Sorli, the woman who ran a small mining village just south of Morthal. She was removed enough from the city’s backstabbing politics and had evidently proven herself as pseudo-mayor of her village. She was also someone who had never been anything but kind to me in official settings, and I can’t say I was disappointed by her appointment.

“And she’s to have an Argonian in her court!” said Brelyna, who had learned all of this from Eleanor, and seemed of late to have contracted a sudden interest in Skyrim politics. “Isn’t it wonderful? You’ve really started something!”

I blinked, more than a little shocked.

“The new jarl of Morthal is romantically involved with an Argonian?” I asked, almost choking on the words, I could scarcely believe them to be true. Times truly _were_ changing.

“Oh, no! She’s married to another Nord. But they’re very close, apparently. Best friends!”

I grinned. “This is you obliquely asking for a position in Ulfric’s court, isn’t it?”

The joke went entirely over her head, as I imagined it would, and she immediately protested, a blush spreading over her pretty face. I let her stammer for a few seconds longer before finally laughing and reassuring her that I was only teasing.

She came to see me almost every day, along with Una and Hanna, and sometimes Ysme and Torbin, if they had the time to spare. I also spent time with Olfina and Jon; Jon made me a present of some of his favorite poetry collections, and even blushingly handed me a scroll which contained a few of his latest ballads. I could scarcely read them in peace, for Olfina sat beside us, gushing over their superior merit the entire time—which didn’t exactly help the color to fade from her intended’s cheeks.

Lastly, towards the latter end of my recovery period, a soft knock at my door revealed Elisif. She was alone, and hooded as per usual. Unlike myself, she appeared to be fully recovered, but she had not sustained any genuine injuries as I had, so far as I understood.

“You’re alone!” I said, trying not to show how surprised I was to see her. “Where are your guards?”

“They proved inadequate protection in the end, and with Erikur gone, I saw no need to keep them on. Furthermore, Falk has accepted the position of jarl, and I can no longer be used in an attempt to blackmail him to do otherwise.”

“But that doesn’t mean you no longer have enemies. People who resent you and might try to hurt you or—well, worse.”

She shrugged.

“Let them come. If such is the will of the gods, then so be it. It will mean I will see my husband again sooner rather than later.”

This bleak talk of hers troubled me, but I was still conscious of the similarities in our two circumstances. Had I lost my own soon-to-be husband as she had lost hers, I would no doubt be in similarly low spirits. In my case, however, I would have had friends and family members to support me, to make sure I didn’t become too careless with my own life. I wasn’t sure Elisif had that.

“I wanted to thank you,” she said, after a somewhat uncomfortable silence had fallen between us.

“Thank me?”

I was sitting on the bed with my knee propped up on a pillow, a cold cloth wrapped around the injury—the healer had luckily been more impressed than frightened when I’d told him I had a friend who could enchant a cloth to remain either chilled or heated for extended periods of time. (It was good that Brelyna was so much better at enchanting than I was—I’d probably have set my own knee on fire.)

Elisif was sitting in a chair beside the bed. All my other friends had joined me on the bed, even Olfina and Jon, though the former had commented how embarrassing it would be if someone of import were to enter and spot her behaving so indecorously. But I suppose Elisif was not my friend, much as the thought pained me—it simply couldn’t be helped.

“Yes,” she continued. “You freed me from my cell, led the way through the caves, and saved me from the troll and spiders. Without you, I would have continued to suffer greatly, and may have even died. Such actions—especially from someone who has no cause to pity me or care even a little about my well-being—are worthy of thanks.”

I shook my head, for this was too much. She really managed to make me sound rather heroic.

“I was only trying to prevent another war from happening,” I said, frowning. “I mean, of _course_ I freed you after freeing myself; why wouldn’t I? And the fact that I have magic is purely coincidental. Anyone can be born with it, even if it _does_ tend to run in families. Or, I suppose I ought to say, anyone can just as easily be born _without_ it.” I shrugged. “It doesn’t make me special.”

“I wasn’t thanking your magic,” she said, her eyes steadily holding my own. “I was thanking _you_.”

I suppose I have never been very good at accepting compliments. Maybe being constantly reminded of my own worthlessness by my aunt during my most formative years had taken its toll on my psyche. Or maybe the effects of those first few years in Windhelm, when I’d done my very best to remain as inconspicuous and unimportant as possible, still lingered somewhere inside me.

But I had always had trouble believing others when they spoke of me with such open positivity. Being told by Ulfric that I was clever, that I was good—that I was beautiful—these things made me blush, but only because I heard them with wonder, for how could anyone in their right mind see such things in me? Yet my friends were often quick to offer me careless praise as well. I was a fast learner, Galmar had once commented. I was studious and listened well to my teachers.

But I wasn’t a hero. I was reckless, not brave. Stubborn, not determined.

“I… You’re welcome, I suppose,” I finally managed to say.

She surprised me by laughing, the sound so clear and bright it startled me.

“You’re such a curious little thing, Casien Yedlin! How it is that you shall soon become the second most important person in all of Skyrim, I’ll never quite understand.”

It was the last I saw of her at the moot. I’m not sure she even remained in Whiterun much longer. Eleanor said her presence hadn’t really come up during the meetings, for unusual as it was, it hadn’t really any bearing on the matters being discussed.

As for the moot itself—it was all but finished. All the jarls had been selected, and on the eve of Second Planting, my lover was finally duly elected High King of Skyrim. We had a sort of celebration in our room that night. It was traditional, too, on the eve of that holiday to express one’s dearest hopes for the future with loved ones. We all gathered together—myself, Ulfric, Galmar, Ania, Hellina, and Una—and talked and shared drinks and later wrote our wishes for the future down on little pieces of parchment and tossed them into the fire. I stayed up far later than was my usual wont, for the presence of the other four made it impossible for me to seek my bed until they had left. I probably would have drunk a bit more than I ended up drinking, too, had the king not cautioned me after my second beer—which was wise of him, as I had no wish to endure a hangover the next day, though he’d never seemed keen to stop me before.

Naturally, I overslept the following morning.

I awoke to find myself alone in bed—not terribly surprising, considering the bright sunlight streaming in through the window, but disappointing nonetheless. I couldn’t help wondering with sleepy crossness what matter of great import had driven my lover away from our room already. It was Second Planting, after all, and the moot was finally, officially over.  Could we not have one morning to ourselves?

Feeling grumpy and annoyed, I rolled over onto my side, reaching for the other pillow just to have something to snuggle and maybe drift lazily back asleep—when I saw the note.

It was sitting on top of the pillow—his pillow—neatly folded in two.

I sat up a little, frowning, leaning on one elbow as I reached for it.

_Good morning._

_Breakfast is just outside. I apologize if the coffee is a little cold._

It was unsigned, but I recognized the handwriting, of course. Filled with wonder and curiosity now, I set the note down and pushed the bedcovers back, reaching for and shrugging into a robe before heading for the door.

When I opened it, the servant chatting with the guard still stationed at our door started before smiling and bowing at me.

“Good morning, m’lord,” she said, and moved to push the breakfast cart into the room, so I stepped aside to allow her to do so.

“What’s going on?” I asked, following her inside. “Is this… some Nord tradition? Because of the holiday?”

I couldn’t recollect anything of that nature. Perhaps the king was simply feeling guilty for not being here, so had arranged all of this.

The servant smiled at me.

“Nothing of the sort, m’lord,” she said. But then as she passed me, she leaned over and added, in a sort of amused, conspiratorial whisper: “Best read the note.”

I blinked and started, looking back at the tray. She was already gone by the time I hurried over to it and picked up a _second_ folded note.

_Please visit Ania and Hellina in their room as soon as you are finished. _

_Enjoy._

Now I was really and truly mystified. I don’t believe I’ve ever eaten so fast, either, both slices of toast gone in three or four bites and the bacon sadly underappreciated as I rapidly washed it down with the (thankfully still hot) coffee. I didn’t even bother to get dressed; it was just across the hall, after all, and Ania and Hellina had already seen me in less than a robe.

The smile the guard gave me was filled with an unusual level of amusement, so I narrowed my eyes as I passed him, pausing before Ania’s door and knocking.

The little feminine shriek of alarm I heard on the other side of the door definitely did _not_ belong to either Ania or Hellina. In fact, it sounded suspiciously like Brelyna. There was a flurry of other voices, and more than a few giggles, until finally I heard Hellina call out, “Come in.”

I opened the door—and stopped and stared at all my friends, who were standing there before me, grinning like fools.

Ania and Hellina were there, of course, as was Una. I was little surprised to see Brelyna, and beside her, Eleanor, and beside _her_ , Hanna. Standing next to her, naturally, was Ysme, and I was even a bit thrown to see Torbin of all people—though not for long, it seemed.

Ysme gave him a companionable slap on the back.

“You’ve got your orders, messenger-boy.”

Torbin grinned and saluted.

“Aye, aye, captain!”

He winked as he passed me, the door shutting soon behind him.

I looked at the rest.

“Okay,” I finally said. “Just what _in Oblivion_ is going on?”

They all started laughing, as if they’d been trying to contain themselves and finally couldn’t hold back anymore. ‘I _told_ you he’d be annoyed!’ I heard Eleanor say, and Brelyna was giggling so much now she had to wipe at her squinting eyes with the backs of her hands.

“Oh, don’t look so glum!” shouted Ania above the rest. “It’s your wedding day, after all!”

I blinked, and gaped at her as if she’d gone quite mad.

“My… _what_?”

I suppose that’s when they all finally took pity on me. Brelyna ran forward and gave me a big hug, her arms squeezing tightly around me while my own hung limp at my sides. She beamed and took my arm, and Eleanor came forward and took my other arm, and together they pulled me towards Ania and Hellina’s bed—where a very fine set of clothing had been lain out: a pair of dark, brown fitted trousers; an off-white undertunic with delicate, gold-threaded stitching; and finally a long tunic of the richest, deepest blue, with gold cuffs and hem, and dark gray fur on the shoulders and along the outside of the collar. There was a handsome, black leather sword belt, with a new dagger already in its sheath, and there on the floor were a new pair of boots, too, the fur lining the outside matching the fur on the tunic.

But it still didn’t register—what was really happening—until I saw what was sitting on the bed beside the beautiful tunic.

I swallowed.

“That’s…”

But I couldn’t say it. Ania smirked and reached over to pick it up, holding it up as if to admire it in the light. It was a thin, silver circlet, similar to the one I had seen Jarl Korir’s wife wearing: smaller than a jarl’s crown, and thus meant to be worn explicitly by the spouse of a jarl.

I felt my knees suddenly go a bit soft. Strong hands grasped me quickly, and led me to sit down against the bed. I looked up into Hanna’s smirking face.

“I’m… getting married?”

They all laughed again, their eyes shining with affection and amusement.

“It’s finally starting to sink in!” quipped Ysme.

They told me to take my fine new things and go into the washroom to change, but I couldn’t do it. I sat there on the edge of the bed and looked at the clothes and the boots and the circlet, and then down at my hands, which were shaking so much I began to wonder if I were truly ill. I swallowed, and declared that I couldn’t do it, and I even felt as if I might cry in that moment.

Everyone began to look rather awkward. But then—while the others all bit their lips and exchanged uneasy looks, Hellina only smiled and began collecting all of the clothes. She took the circlet from Ania, then gently hooked her arm around mine, pulling me to my feet.

“Come with me,” she said.

She led me to the washroom, closing the door behind us.

There she lay the clothes and circlet down, then grasped me gently by the shoulders so that I faced her, and pushed back my robe. I gasped and hid my face in my hands, not because I now stood before her in nothing but my smallclothes, but because I had tears in my eyes, and I didn’t understand why.

“This isn’t me,” I said, sniffing, and rubbing at my no doubt reddening eyes. “I can’t do this. I can’t become the husband of a jarl. Of a king!”

“Yes, you can,” she said.

She cupped one hand around my cheek, causing me to look up, our eyes meeting. She smiled.

“Do you love him?”

“Yes,” I said, without hesitation.

“Do you believe he loves you?”

I blinked, and pushed more tears away with the heels of my hands, and nodded, for I had little doubt of _that_.

“It is a great burden to be king. He has chosen you to share that burden with him.”

I thought about that. Remarkably, her words steadied my heart, and I began to see myself not simply as someone unworthy to assume some great position. No, I was still myself, and always would be. Ulfric—the only man I had and would ever love—loved me, _needed_ me.

I looked up at her again, took a deep breath, and nodded.

She helped me dress. I shrugged into the under tunic, which fit me so snugly, the material so soft it almost made me shiver. I pulled the trousers on, and she tied them, since my hands were still trembling too much. The tunic was next, and she did the buttons for me, and then I pulled on the belt and dagger. Then, very carefully, she set the circlet on my head, narrowing her eyes a little as she gave my hair a gentle tug in places so that it would blend well with the circlet.

All I was missing were my boots. My friends cheered as I finally stepped out of the washroom, and I couldn’t help smiling sheepishly back. Ysme and Una pushed me into a nearby chair and pretended to be my ‘devoted handmaidens,’ pulling the socks onto my feet before slipping the boots on with false and highly dramatic reverence (much to the giggles and laughter of the others).

Finally, I was ready.

“One more thing,” said Ania.

She pulled a ring from her pocket, wiggling it before me with a grin on her face. I gazed at it with widened eyes before watching as she slipped it into the pocket of my tunic, giving it a little pat.

“I’ve never attended a Nord wedding,” I said dazedly, as they began to lead the way out of the room. “I won’t know what to do.”

“It’s not complicated,” said Una, rolling her eyes. “Trust me, you’ll be able to figure it out. And Uncle will be there to help you.”

“No fainting now, when you see how handsome he is,” joked Ania.

“Oh dear!” squeaked Brelyna. “I hadn’t thought of that!”

“Me either,” I murmured, blinking, and the others all naturally started laughing again.

I walked the halls of Dragonsreach as though in a daze, my friends absently pulling me along as they chatted amongst one another, my heart pitter-pattering in my chest. I felt sudden embarrassment and shame at how I had reacted a moment ago, when I’d first learned of what was happening, but then just as quickly, the flush faded from my cheeks. I was so nervous, I couldn’t seem to hold on to a single, steady emotion. Thoughts flit through my head like butterflies, fluttering their wings, distracting me, before flying off again.

Soldiers and guards saluted as I passed, and servants smiled and bowed. I didn’t like this, but I saw it couldn’t be helped. Then I found myself thinking of the king, and how he always nodded towards those who saluted him, as if he were both used to such deference and support, yet also cognizant of how he must always work to continue earning it. I couldn’t quite bring myself to nod as well, though I did manage to smile at a few of those we passed.

“Where are we going?” I asked, as we finally made our way outside.

My heart quaked momentarily within me, for I had wondered if the ceremony was to be held indoors, but if not—would it be a public ceremony? Would there be many people?

“Whiterun’s temple of Mara,” supplied Eleanor, who still had her arm looped around mine—which was good, because without her holding onto me, I suspected there was at least a 50/50 chance of my turning and slinking back in the opposite direction.

“It isn’t far from the castle,” said Una, who had to hold the hem of her long skirt up as we began to descend the stone steps—armed men and women once again saluting smartly as I passed.

“…Did he plan this?” I finally asked, and I could once again feel the blush rising to my cheeks.

“Of course he did,” said Ania, grinning back at me over her shoulder. “Father’s about sick of hearing him go on about it, worrying it might rain today, or that you wouldn’t be well enough to walk so far just yet, or this or that or some other such nonsense thing.”

“He had the circlet commissioned only a few days ago,” said Hellina. “Though I’m not quite sure where the rings came from.”

“Rings?” I asked, for I could only recall Ania placing one in my pocket.

“Yes, _rings_ ,” Una said, rolling her eyes, though I knew she wasn’t annoyed with me—that was just her way. “During the ceremony, you’re to give him his, and he’s to do the same with yours.”

“A wedding ring,” I said, my heart fluttering again. I stumbled and almost tripped on one of the last few stone steps. Luckily, someone—probably Hanna or Ysme—caught me from behind.

“You look so frightened still!” said Brelyna, taking my other hand and giving me a worried look. “You’re not going to cry again, are you?”

“No,” I said softly, “I don’t think so.”

But then I stopped abruptly, a sudden, horrified thought coming to my head.

“Are my eyes red?” I asked my friends. “Will he be able to tell that I was… upset?”

They all stared at me like I was an idiot before—and this was becoming familiar—all bursting out into good-natured laughter. Ysme even threw an arm around my shoulders and squeezed me close, kissing the side of my head and calling me a ‘silly goose.’ We had reached the bottom of the steps now, and now passed through the lower courtyard. The folk here were all either still servants of the castle, stable hands and the like, visiting minor dignities, or local nobles. The servants barely spared us a glance, so I suppose they weren’t as in the know as their household brethren, but the rich people stopped and whispered and smiled.

The temple was small, and not far from the castle. We turned away from the road that would lead us into the city proper, heading instead down a small path, past a few official-looking buildings. Colorful paper streamers had already been hung from and between some of the buildings, rings of flowers hanging on their doors, commemorating the holiday. The mid-morning sun was very bright overhead, and a breeze even ruffled my hair as we walked. Birds perched on the rooftops and chirped and sang and plucked at the streamers and flowers. It was so idyllic, had I not been so terribly nervous, I probably would have laughed.

The temple was at the end of the lane. There was no large crowd gathered in front of it, in fact, no one milling about at all. I felt myself relax. I heard music, coming from what sounded like the back of the building, and I supposed on fine days like today, ceremonies were held outside.

And so it was today. We walked around the back, down the little stone path. There was a pretty sort of garden here, with stone benches and rose trellises and miniature shrines meant for personal reflection. The yard was encompassed by a stone wall, and towards the back of the far wall I could see the tall, main shrine and altar, along with several priests.

But I could barely see them through the crowd. It was small, but the yard was not large, and I had to suddenly stop and try not to shrink at the way they all paused in their conversations and smiled when they saw me. I recognized them, of course, the most important people in Skyrim, for I had spent a good deal of time with them these past few weeks. But my eyes skimmed over most of them, until they settled on two men, and one man in particular.

I noticed that his tunic was a lush, dark red, and that his own boots were new, but I took little further notice of how he was dressed. His hair had been partially pulled back from his face, two little braids on each side—I wondered who had done it for him—Ania, or Hellina, or Una? My heart seemed to stutter, then I walked towards him, and all the while his eyes held mine.

“Hello,” I said, once we were together.

He smiled, the expression small and warm and strangely reverent.

“Hello,” he said.

He reached up, tracing the silver circlet on my brow, then tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, as was his wont of late.

“You are beautiful,” he murmured.

I felt myself blush, and smiled.

“So are you,” I said, and I heard a few people chuckle, but his smile only widened ever so slightly, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Are you ready?” he asked.

I nodded, for I suddenly wasn’t certain I had it in me to speak any longer. He took my hand then, and faced the altar. The music stopped, the little troupe of bards lowering their instruments. The people talked and laughed softly amongst themselves as they hurried to take their seats on the wooden benches which had been lain out. I saw my friends sitting together; Brelyna beamed and waved at me. I waved back.

Ulfric’s hand around mine squeezed gently, and he began to walk towards the altar. I walked with him. Galmar, as I passed him, winked at me, and I’m sure I almost stumbled at the sight.

The priest smiled as we approached him.

“Friends,” he said, lifting his arms to gesture towards those in attendance. “We gather today before Mara’s loving gaze to celebrate the union of two people. There is nothing that pleases her more than to see love blossoming between two souls. It is from her, after all, that we received the first breath of life. Thus does she now watch over us, caring for us, rejoicing in the love we learn to share with each other. It is through _her_ love and devotion that we learn the value of clinging to one another, of finding and choosing one person to spend our lives with in eternal devotion.”

He lowered his hands, then, folding them before us and looking at us both.

“To choose love is the greatest choice of all, my friends. For love does not see rank. Love does not see race or wealth. Love dampens the fires of war and hatred; love soothes the bitter heart and warms the lonely soul. I say again: to choose love is the greatest choice of all. It is the bravest choice, the most sacred of choices.

“Casien and Ulfric,” he continued, looking at each of us as he said our names, and I gave a little start at being addressed first—but I confess I was in such a state that my brain could scarcely make sense of the words the priest was saying. “Do you promise, to one another, and to me, and to those gathered here today, and to Mara: that your journey together from this day forth will be a journey of love, and support, and mutual respect?”

“I do,” said Ulfric, and he squeezed my hand, so I managed a hasty, vaguely breathless ‘I do.’

“Do you promise to continue that love, support, and respect no matter what may befall you: whether that be hardship, poor health, broken trust, or sorrow of any kind?”

“I do,” we both said, and I felt his hand tighten around mine.

“Do you,” said the priest, “agree to be bound together in love, now, forever, in this life and the next?”

Again, we said that we did.

“Do you have the rings?” he asked.

 _Oh_ , I thought, for now I understood what the ring in my pocket was for. My lover gave my hand a little tug, and so I turned to face him. He must have retrieved a ring from his own pocket, for he held it in his hand now. He took my own hand, and brought it up, and my fingers were shaking so much I had to bite my lip—only then I saw that his own were shaking slightly, as he slid the ring onto one of my fingers. I stared at it for a moment; it was very cool against my skin, and quite lovely, all silver and black, and very like the one I now held in my own pocket.

“Casien,” he prompted gently.

I startled, and fumbled for the other ring, pulling it out, and pushing it onto one of his fingers. His fingers curled around mine when I did, and I looked up, and I knew him well enough by now to know that he wanted to kiss me right now, and I confess I was harboring very similar thoughts.

“Under the authority of Mara, our great and loving mother,” said the priest, “I declare this couple to be wed. I bless the rings you have given one another, which represent the union of your souls. May they protect each of you in your new life together.”

There was a calm, gentle finality to his words, and he was smiling at us now, and I looked at Ulfric, who was pressing his lips together as he gazed down at me. I leaned up then, standing on my toes, though he was already dipping his head down towards mine. I felt his arm go around me as we kissed, and oh! It was not the type of kiss I would have expected to share with him in public, for his hold on me seemed to tighten, and our lips parted, and I curled an arm around his neck, my fingers tangling in his hair.

Until we both became aware of the laughter and applause around us, and finally separated, turning to see everyone watching us with amusement. The musicians began to play again, and people started to stand up; Galmar was the first to come forward, to shake his king’s hand, and then to even shake my own, which felt rather strange, but I hadn’t the time to reflect on it, for soon others came forward to congratulate us.

And so we were married. Never in my wildest dreams could I have imagined such a thing happening. Not when I was still just seventeen, and running headlong into the jarl of Windhelm, who kindly picked me back up and warned me to watch where I was going. Not nearly two years later, when I was working in his castle, and felt his hand brush against my own while I was serving him. Not when he surprised me one afternoon in the empty guest bedroom, and did his best not to frighten me when he saw that he had startled me. Not when I began to realize that I loved him. Not when I kissed him for the first time, not when he held me in his arms, not when we were separated for those six long, painful months. Even when I saw the amulet around his neck, I could not believe it to be true: I could not believe that he wished to marry me, that he wished to spend the rest of his life with _me_.

And yet he did. And now it had happened, and he was my husband, and I was his. I think my heart fairly beat right out of my chest that morning—my soul would have gladly left my body, had he not kept such a tight hold on my hand. I do believe it was the happiest moment of my life thus far, and I knew, for the first time, that no matter what happened to me, no matter what life sought to throw at either of us—I would never truly be alone, ever again.

// 

[And I'm  _so_ tired, I forgot to post their wedding songs! That is, songs I listened to the most when thinking about and writing their wedding 💕]

"[After The Storm](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SWYG7lZBc6U)" by Mumford and Sons

"[Can't Take My Eyes Off You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SWYG7lZBc6U)" by Lady Antebellum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good and bad news, everyone! 
> 
> We're almost finished with part 2! There's only one chapter after this (and it's a big one), plus an epilogue ♡ Then we'll have finished the second chapter of Casien's story.
> 
> But don't be sad! Because part 3 will follow right on the heels of part 2's conclusion. So just like last time, when you read the epilogue for part 2, there will be a link to the first chapter of part 3 waiting for you at the bottom. 
> 
> The first chapter of part 3 is bound to be long, so it's probably going to take longer than usual to write it. Don't be alarmed if we pass the two week mark before the next update. That probably won't happen, but just be aware. It's nearing the end of the semester for me, so I'm sort of perpetually exhausted. Fun times!


	23. Chapter 23

After Galmar’s congratulations, we shook hands with all of the other jarls and endured their compliments and wishes for our happiness. Some, such as those from Olfina and Jon, were sincere—Jon even hugged me, and I swear had tears in his eyes. Others, like Thongvar or Skald, were clearly just doing their duty. Lady Thaena also hugged me, and told me how beautiful my circlet was; then she wished to examine our rings, and even asked if we were going to consider children before her embarrassed husband interrupted the question. Laila was an enigma as always, with her smile that never reached her eyes. Her youngest son avoided us completely, but Harrald was kind, and I finally had the opportunity to thank him for lending Elisif and me his horse that awful morning.

Finally, my friends had their chance to congratulate us. I endured fierce hugs from Brelyna and Eleanor, a hair mussing from Ysme, a tongue-clicking from Hellina, who righted my circlet afterward, and hearty back slaps from Hanna and Ania. Young Torbin pumped my hand until I worried he might do me some unintentional injury; he then didn’t seem to know whether to salute or shake his king’s hand; he started to do the former before my new husband interrupted the gesture, and they shook hands with the gravest solemnity.

 _My husband_. I could scarcely think the words without experiencing a sudden rush of warmth in my chest—a warmth which bloomed outward until it encompassed my entire body. I kept finding myself looking up at him, my heart turning little flips, my breath catching in my throat. This man, this tall, beautiful man with the simple, golden crown atop his head, partially obscuring the braids someone had worked into his yellow hair—this was my husband.

“You keep looking at me as if expecting me to be someone else,” he murmured to me, and I could tell from his voice that he was teasing, but I shook my head anyway.

“It’s not that,” I said, “It’s just…” Then I couldn’t resist leaning up (causing him to obligingly lean down towards me), cupping my hand around his ear, and whispering, “We’re _married_.”

His eyes met mine, widening for a moment. Then he actually laughed, one arm squeezing me briefly to his side. I grinned, reveling in this uncharacteristic display of public physical affection, but it wasn’t to end there. He lowered his arm, then, but now took my hand, surprising me, and pulling me with him back up towards the platform where the priest had been standing.

“Thank you, everyone, for attending our wedding,” he said, facing the guests, who all ceased their conversations momentarily to gaze up at us. “Please stay and enjoy the music, company, and food for as long as you like. We will see you all again tonight, at the feast in Dragonsreach.”

He stepped down then, retaining his hold on my hand, so I was obliged to go with him.

“Feast?” I asked, hurrying to keep up with his long strides. “Wait, where are we going?” For we were striding past all the guests, some of whom raised their glasses and cheered as we passed.

“I was informed that you lament the fact that you and I have never been on a date,” he said calmly, pausing only to pluck the crown from his own head and hand it to an amused-looking Galmar before we made our way back through the side yard of the temple. “Today I will rectify that error.”

I blinked. “What??”

I looked back over my shoulder, and sure enough, I quickly picked out the smug, grinning faces of Eleanor and Hanna (and Brelyna’s beaming one). They all three waved at me.

“You don’t have to do this,” I said, feeling my face grow hot. “And I wasn’t really _lamenting_ ; it was more like, oh, here’s a sudden thought! Which I then shared _stupidly_ with my so-called friends, and I cannot _believe_ they actually told you I said that!” I concluded with a moan, my free hand briefly covering my face.

Naturally, his immediate response was to simply laugh.

“Well,” he said, squeezing my hand in his. “Where would you like to go first?”

But I was still too embarrassed to consider the request seriously.

“Can we really do this? I mean, is it safe? Just you and me, wandering the city together?”

“Hm. If you do not pick, then I shall have to pick for you. Have you visited the Whiterun city library?”

I almost tripped over my own feet. “There’s a _library_?!”

There was, of course, and I’m not quite sure why I had never been told about it before, but suddenly I could scarcely contain my excitement. Windhelm did not yet have a standing library, and still had to rely on traveling libraries. I felt certain it would be nothing like a jarl’s library, but even so, some of the documents it contained would be worthy of study: old city maps and legal proceedings, for instance, books by local and popular authors, or ancient songs and ballads.

The library wasn’t far from Dragonsreach, though we still had to walk through a portion of the city to get there. The streets were a bit busier now, and there were even more decorations adorning the houses and businesses. People clearly knew immediately who we were, for they either stopped and stared and tried not to gape, or they actually did all of that before adding a hasty bow. Ulfric curled my hand around his arm and held it close, holding me close by default, and as he nodded at those who bowed, I tried my best to at least smile at them.

“Is that Ulfric Stormcloak?” they whispered to one another.

“Who is that with him?”

“That’s the elf! The one who came riding through the city half-naked and looking near death!”

“There’s a crown on that elf’s head, unless I’m mistaken.”

“And a ring on his finger—and the jarl’s!”

“So Ulfric Stormcloak has married an elf?”

“They make a handsome pair, do they not?”

Their words burned my ears, and I tried not to blush. My fellow mer were the most likely to do double-takes, and though I’m sure not everyone supported my lover’s— _my husband_ ’s—recent ascension to power, none of them seemed inclined to harass us in any way.

The library was impressive. It was nearly empty at this early hour, and on such an important holiday. Old scholars gave us barely a passing glance as I released the king’s hand and made my way eagerly through the row of bookshelves.

“Look at this!” I said, pulling a book from a shelf labeled ‘Folktales from around Tamriel.’ “This is the same collection of tales Nirya got me, only it’s from a different translator!” I opened it, quickly studying the table of contents. “ _And_ she’s included three additional tales. _Dwemer_ tales. I wish I could show this to Eleanor! It would really put a damper on her theory about the _Tales_ ’ origin.”

“You can have the book sent to our room,” said the king, kissing my temple and curling an arm around my waist. “We may stay in Whiterun for a few more days.”

I looked up at him, unable to hide the grin from my face.

“Really?”

He chuckled, though I’m not sure what he found so amusing about my excitement over sharing my discovery with my friend.

“Yes,” he said. “We may leave the day after tomorrow at the earliest, though I would not be surprised if we were to stay even longer.”

I wondered why—meetings with the other jarls, more than likely, and discussions involving trade, defense, and the like. Perhaps I would be expected to attend some of those meetings. But I couldn’t quite allow myself to care in the moment, for it was my wedding day, and I was in a library, and on a date with my husband.

We stayed there perhaps half an hour longer. He indulged me, following me from shelf to shelf, commenting on this or that title, smiling at my enthusiasm. Yet I didn’t wish to spend the whole day here—not when I had the king all to myself for the next few hours. So I brought my books to the front and left instructions with one of the librarians to have them brought to my room in Dragonsreach. She was very grave but very polite, and to this day I don’t know if hand-delivering library books is a service generally offered to the public or if the circlet around my head (and the High King at my side) afforded me some sort of special treatment.

After this, we went back outside; I reclaimed his hand—he didn’t seem to mind in the slightest—and led him in the general direction of the marketplace. I had visited many of the shops here before, but never with him, and I thought it might be fun. I was right. For my husband the jarl was keen to please me that day, and nearly every item I stopped to admire—from soaps to clothing to leathers—was duly purchased, the shopkeeper then told to have the items delivered to our room. By the end of it, I had a whole basketful of bath products, several new cloaks, a new pair of gloves, the softest, warmest, coziest blanket I had ever laid eyes (or hands) on—this one I was the most excited about, for winters in Windhelm were brutal, even when surrounded by thick rugs and tapestries and roaring fires—and myriad other items, none of which I had any desperate need to own, yet each having struck my fancy in some way or another.

“Is it wrong to buy so much?” I asked, as we exited the last shop, for it was nearing lunchtime. “I mean, it’s the people’s money we’re spending, isn’t it?”

He smiled and tucked my hand around his arm again.

“Fear not, little roebuck. The crown is afforded a monthly stipend, and we are far from exceeding that. In fact, most of that money goes back into the city more often than not. And though it may seem as though we’ve spent a good deal today, it is nothing compared to the overall revenue the hold produces.”

True—I had seen those numbers before and knew that he was right. It set my heart somewhat at ease, though I vowed to take _my_ portion of the stipend—if such a thing were possible—and dole it out in more meaningful ways. Perhaps to better support the Gray Quarter, for example, or to improve living conditions down in the docks.

The festival was in full swing by now, with musicians and performers on every corner, vendors calling out their wares, and more booths than normal in the large open marketplace selling fresh cooked or baked food. The area was crowded, though people inevitably started and stepped aside when they saw us—or rather, when they saw the king, I’m sure. He bid me to select what we should have for lunch, and I found it desperately hard to favor one merchant or farmer or baker over the other, for they all called out eagerly to us, each anxious to be seen serving the High King of Skyrim.

Of course, the king was still not universally liked here in Whiterun, but his admirers now appeared to outnumber his detractors—or else people simply saw the financial benefit of catering to such a man. I remembered what Jon and Olfina had once said, about how knowing he loved me made him seem more human and approachable. I couldn’t help wondering now if seeing me at his side softened their hatred and their resentment, even if only a little bit. Certainly, we endured no harassment of any kind, but then, I don’t know who would be foolish enough to openly harass Ulfric Stormcloak.

I eventually settled on what to order, and we found a spot to enjoy our lunch: piping hot venison and vegetable stew, freshly baked bread, a warm slice of jazbay pie apiece, and two large mugs of cold beer. The man who sold us the beers even shooed away a table full of half-drunk teenagers before quickly wiping it down with a damp cloth and bidding us to please sit and enjoy our meal—and his home-brewed beer, of course.

“People are staring at us,” I said, as I bit into a spice-laden potato, and tried not to stare back at them.

“Does that bother you?”

The question surprised me. I looked at him, blinking and hastily swallowing.

“No,” I said. “I suppose not.”

A faint smile seemed to cross his face then, almost as if my answer had relieved him.

“I’m afraid it will always be this way,” he said. “I have been used to enduring it alone, for it is not only curiosity that draws their gaze, but also hatred, bitterness, and envy. I have been… preoccupied of late, wondering how marriage to me may change your life in ways you did not foresee.”

“Of course it will change,” I said, smiling, little surprised to hear that he’d been worrying about me. “I guess some aspects of my new life will be—and have been—a surprise. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t all worth it in the end. Because…” I hesitated, for I wasn’t used to speaking openly about my feelings; it just wasn’t something either of us really did. I took a quick, deep breath. “…I really do love you. And I can’t think of anything I’ve ever wanted more than to be married to you.”

I could feel myself blushing, but my embarrassment was short-lived, for I saw that my words had brought an unexpected flush to his own face. He smiled, his eyes lowering momentarily, seeming to tacitly acknowledge how much my words had evidently touched him.

“It pleases me to hear you say that,” he finally said. “I would not wish marriage to me to become a burden for you.”

I reached out on impulse, taking his hand.

“Please don’t ever think that to be the case,” I said, the anxious sincerity in his voice tugging at my heart.

After a moment, he smiled, and nodded, turning his hand so that his palm now cradled my own. He brought my hand to his lips, then, kissing it, and I smiled.

I snatched my hand back, however, when I heard the table full of women to our immediate left let out a soft chorus of _aww_ s.

Ulfric laughed, of course, and bid me to finish my lunch, for we were going to be late if we dawdled here for too long. Late for what? I wanted to know, but he only smiled, and refused to tell me.

Once we finished our lunch, he reclaimed my hand and led me rather purposefully back through the marketplace. I recognized the part of town we were entering; it was a slightly more upscale area, though still crowded with folk celebrating the holiday. I began to notice that the rest of the crowd was moving in the same general direction, and then I noticed the tall, wooden structure of the outdoor theatre looming before us. And I’ll admit—I gasped.

“We’re… going to see a play?” I asked, my voice so small I’m almost surprised he even heard me.

But he did, for he only glanced at me and smiled.

Most of the seating went down into the ground, for the theatre was somewhat carved into a hill, so that the whole thing rather resembled, on a much larger scale, of course, one of the classrooms back at the college. But there were several balcony seating areas as well, and these appeared reserved for persons of import—so, naturally, the king led me up the steps towards one of these, where we settled, of course, in the centermost, best-positioned seat in the house.

“I’ve always wanted to see a play,” I said, feeling deep inside that I was babbling, but I couldn’t help it. “I can’t believe I’m finally doing it. And with you! Oh, the others must have told you what I said that day!”

And I hid my embarrassed, happy face briefly in my hands. I felt my husband gently reach over and remove my hands, a warm, amused look on his face.

“I only wish it were possible for me to spend many such days with you,” he said, lowering his voice so that only I could hear. “Nothing pleases me more than to see you so happy. Please do not feel ashamed.”

To endure his persistent, overwhelming devotion was no easy thing, for it made me feel both small and immense at the same time. I felt awkward, and unworthy, yet it only made me adore him even more than before. And no matter what he said, it was still embarrassing to realize that he had planned this day so carefully, all so that we could spend time together, and so that he could see me truly happy.

The play was wonderful. I had read and heard that audiences who find fault with a performance will sometimes heckle the actors or even throw food at them. There truly wasn’t a chance of that happening today. The story of Fjori and Holgeir was moving, romantic… and tragic. I heard more than one sniffle from the audience, and one man even hissed to his beloved during one particularly moving scene, _Why don’t you ever talk to me like that?!_ which naturally earned him a snort and an eye roll.

For my part, I leaned against my own beloved, who draped his arm around me, and tried not to cry when Holgeir knelt above his lover’s grave and held the dagger to his own chest before crying out that he simply could not live in a world without her in it. Then he plunged the dagger into his heart—of course, he didn’t _really_ do it, but the scene was so intense, and by some little acting trick, blood even began to seep from the apparent wound, and with a sigh, the brave warrior lay down upon his wife’s grave and died.

I turned and hid my face against the king’s shoulder and took a deep, steadying breath, and hoped that the material of his tunic would steal the tears gathering at the corners of my eyes. I didn’t like to think of two people who loved one another so intensely coming to such a tragic end, and I prayed hard in that moment that the king and I would have many, many more years together before the end.

“Look,” he murmured into my ear, “There is one more act.”

So I lifted my head, wiping absently at my eyes, and watched in amazement as some wondrous contraption or other caused fog to spread across the stage—perhaps a mage had joined the acting troop, I thought. The background was quickly changed, giving the impression of an otherworldly, beautiful scene. Suddenly, Holgeir reappeared, walking around and looking about him in amazement. A lovely voice began to sing, and I recognized it as belonging to the actor who played Fjori. The mist parted, revealing the warrior maiden sitting on a rock, dressed in resplendent white armor. The lovers’ eyes met—Holgeir ran to her, and she smiled and leapt down from the rock and into his arms. They embraced and kissed—the drums began to beat, the narrator called out to the crowd that true love does not die, even in Sovngarde, and everyone began to clap and cheer. The curtains fell, yet the cheering only increased, whistles and calls for more ringing through the crowd. The actors all came out, and smiled and bowed, and received kisses and flowers from some of the children.

“That was incredible!” I said, as we eventually made our way out of the theatre. I was so overcome by what I had witnessed, that I scarcely even noticed now the way people glanced us, then glanced at us _again_ , before hastily stepping out of our way.

“I am glad you enjoyed it,” said the king, once again tucking my arm into his, the better to keep me close, I suppose, as the afternoon crowds were really threatening to merrily overwhelm the marketplace streets.

“I did!” I glanced at him, curious. “Did _you_ enjoy it?” But I held up a hand before he could respond. “Do _not_ give me some nonsense like, _oh, my dearest husband, watching you for two hours was the greatest of pleasures_. I expect a _real_ answer.”

He smiled, the expression very nearly a smirk.

“You like saying that word.”

“What word?”

“Cheeky little roebuck. You know which. But I like it, too—my dearest, my darling, my husband.”

I gaped at him, taking him seriously for a split second before rolling my eyes and smacking his arm. He only laughed, and released my hand, but only so he could put his arm around my waist now, hugging me briefly. I saw that people were watching us, but I didn’t feel embarrassed or shy as I had before. I felt strangely proud, and happy that he felt he could be so openly affectionate with me now.

We wandered the market for another hour or so, watching and enjoying the street performances. There was music and dancing, puppet shows and storytelling for the young people, tumblers, jugglers, animal trainers, and all manner of things to stand and gape at. I enjoyed it all, for Second Planting in Windhelm is scarcely so lively. The crowd became rather thick as the afternoon shadows lengthened, and my husband kept firm hold of my hand, lest we should become separated. I didn’t think there was any immediate danger to either of us, but after everything we had been through, I supposed it was best not to tempt fate.

Finally, when the sun started to dip behind the distant mountains, we began to make our way back towards Dragonsreach. The crowd thinned, and I took a deep breath, admittedly feeling slightly less anxious as we left the constant press of bodies behind us. I suppose I never have done very well in crowds, for all I had enjoyed my day out with the king tremendously.

We ascended the stone steps, guards saluting smartly as we passed them.

“I guess I’ll have to get used to that, too,” I murmured, quietly eyeing one of the guards, who stared blankly ahead, rigidly refusing to meet my gaze—out of respect, not rudeness.

Ulfric said nothing, though the faint smile on his face was sympathetic.

The two Whiterun guards stationed at the double doors to Dragonsreach quickly moved to open them as we approached.

Had the king not once again taken my hand and tucked it around his arm, I would have no doubt paused and gaped. For light, music, and laughter— _much_ more so than normal at this time of day—poured forth from the great hall. As we ascended the steps, I noticed that the long tables, though laden with food, had been pushed aside, leaving the room open, which was currently packed with people, many of whom had been in attendance at my wedding. The servants—I couldn’t help imagining how early they must have had to awaken to do so—had decorated the hall with traditional Second Planting regalia: beautiful displays and clusters of flowers, fruits, fern leaves, vines, along with paper lanterns and streamers. The people standing about and chatting, some holding glasses and mugs of expensive spirits, no doubt, were all dressed in what seemed to be their very finest things, with many of the women having piled their hair up on top of their heads, and the men having worked more braids than usual into their own hair and beards.

“Hail High King Ulfric!” cried a familiar voice, and I saw Ysme standing, grinning, next to Hanna, Eleanor, and Brelyna.

“To King Ulfric!” said Laila, smiling and raising her glass. “And his new husband, Lord Casien Yedlin.”

“To Ulfric and Casien!” cried several others, raising their glasses and mugs as well.

I stood there and blushed halfway up to my ears, but Ulfric only bowed his head ever so slightly as he always did. The cheering was soon replaced with the former buzz of conversation, and I had a sinking feeling I would not have a moment’s peace for the next few hours.

I was right. The first to approach us was Galmar, though I could see several others hovering nearby. It was apparently anticipated that Ulfric’s oldest friend and general would be the first to speak with us.

“Enjoyed your day out?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at us both. “And so here’s the culmination of all the blasted nonsense you two put me through. I hope you’ll be happy together, or so help me, I’ll wring both your necks.

“Thank you, Galmar,” said the king.

“Aren’t you two a handsome pair,” said Ania, sidling up next to her father, Hellina at her side. Both were splendidly dressed, Hellina wearing one of the beautiful dresses Nella had mentioned when last we’d spoken.

“The handsomest,” she said, her eyes twinkling at us both.

“ _He’s_ the handsome one,” I said, smiling and unable to put up with such compliments any longer. “I’m sure I look very small and silly next to him. It’s like standing next to the sun.”

“If I must be the sun, then you are the brightest star in the sky,” said my husband, warmth tinging his low voice. “Whose beauty is beyond compare.”

“Rather tragic,” said Ania, tactfully ignoring how my face exploded at his words, “Since never the twain shall meet.”

“Nine help me if I ever have to put up with this one’s long distance mooning ever again,” said Galmar, rolling his eyes. Across from him, Ulfric only smiled, though there was now the faintest tinge of pink spreading across the bridge of his own nose.

“We should let some of the others say ‘hello’,” said Hellina, looping her arm around Ania’s and pulling her gently away.

After they wandered off, we were all but accosted by a long series of well-wishers, and I knew this was day one of the rest of my life as king’s consort. Fully half of them had little interest in genuinely congratulating us but rather hoped to curry favor with the High King himself—and my friendship with Olfina had no doubt proven to many that cozying up to the king’s new husband wasn’t such a bad maneuver either. Ulfric generally did little to hide his disregard, so it was sometimes up to me to soothe hurt feelings—to ask Skald about his wife, who had stayed home in Dawnstar, for she’d been too ill to make the journey, or to compliment one of the Whiterun nobles on the wonderful variety of shops the city boasted. It was all very bewildering, because for the first time, Galmar was nowhere to be seen, and I realized that from now on, in many ways, _I_ was the one expected to stand by his side, the one who must temper his pride and his passionate nature.

It was exhausting, and to top it all off, I was beginning to feel hungry again, too. The feast was more of a buffet, as is apparently traditional for Second Planting. I had little time to make a plate for myself, but fortunately our friends saw fit to keep us supplied with food and wine. Brelyna even slipped us both a piece of cake for dessert; Ulfric politely refused his, but I didn’t really care _who_ might have narrowed their eyes in disapproval as I ate my entire piece.

Thankfully I was eventually saved from it all by the sound of the troupe of bards tuning their instruments loudly, a pretty series of notes ringing out clearly over the buzz of the crowd. This meant very little to me, but the others seemed to realize what was happening.

Many of the guests moved towards the tables, clearing the space in the middle, but others smiled and paired off. It took me a moment to realize what was going on, but once I saw there was to be dancing, I turned to join the others near the tables, only—

There was the king, lifting his hand towards me.

I blinked, and looked down at his hand, then back up at him.

“Is there a reason you refuse to take my hand?” he asked, a faint smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“But—” I reached up, almost hesitantly, his fingers folding around mine. “You don’t dance!”

He didn’t respond, other than to pull me slightly closer, positioning both our hands. I felt myself turning pink, and had a feeling all eyes were on the two of us—well, _of course_ they were—and I couldn’t seem to steady the giddy-yet-frantic pitter patter of my heart.

“I don’t know how,” I said in a small voice, hoping no one would overhear me.

“I will show you,” he said. “Watch me, and do as I do.”

So I did. The music began, and he clasped my hand lightly in his. He began to move, and indicated that I should move, too, only in the opposite direction. _Oh_ , I thought, for we were turning slowly around one another. The music shifted, and so did we, my left hand in his now as we turned in the opposite direction. Our eyes met, and I smiled.

The music shifted again, the tempo quickening ever so slightly, but instead of turning, he pulled me gently closer, so that now our forearms pressed together as we danced. Another turn, then another change. He pulled me closer still. Finally, he rest his hand lightly around my waist, and bid me to do the same. The music ended with a flourish, and I realized I was breathing a bit heavy, and oh, how closely we stood to one another! Our arms lingered around one another, and he quirked a smile at me; I thought we might—but no, we were in the middle of a dance floor. He took a step back, reclaiming my hand, and kissing it with more gallantry than he had ever displayed before.

I rolled my eyes and smiled and pulled my hand back. But then before I thought better of it, I stepped forward and leaned up to plant a kiss on his jaw. He looked surprised, blinking, but before he could do or say anything in response, a wave of gentle laughter surrounded us.

I stepped quickly back again, glancing sheepishly around at the other dancers, who now stood smiling at us.  

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such splendid dancing,” said one noblewoman, her eyes already bright with whatever spirits she’d been drinking.

“Indeed, they put the rest of us to shame,” agreed another man.

“And I guess that’s my signal to relieve poor Uncle,” said Ania, stepping up to us, a smirk on her face.

Hellina gave me a wink before sliding her arm gently through the High King’s—who looked as though he were now barely tolerating the false compliments being heaped upon the two of us—and leading him off the dance floor where he could stand and brood in peace.

The next hour or so was a blur. Ania was a fabulous dancer, and the second dance was fast-paced and oh so very merry. I realized it was the one Nella had been practicing with me just before we’d left Windhelm, and luckily Ania was leading, for I’m quite certain I couldn’t have lifted her for all the septums in the world.

Next was Una, then Olfina, then Jon kindly begged a dance as well—which was very brave of him, for he had to endure Ulfric’s distant, narrow-eyed glare the entire time. Harrald Law-Giver was similarly brave, though amusingly my husband seemed less concerned when young Torbin and I took a spin together. I danced, of course, with all my friends, with Ysme, Hanna, Eleanor, and Brelyna, the latter two the most fun of all, for Brelyna only knew the dances of her homeland, and Eleanor had only read about dancing in books, so we quite fumbled our way through them, laughing and stepping on one another’s toes.

I danced with Hellina, and felt, even more so than when I stood beside Ulfric, that I was a pale and awkward thing made even more so by her graceful presence. Her beauty was breathtaking, and her dancing was exquisite. Of course, because of the memories the Apocrypha had shown me, I knew things about her that I truly had no right knowing. But now that I knew them, I couldn’t help reexamining any assumptions I might have once had about men and women who shared her former profession.

“You should make this your last dance,” she said, smiling as we spun slowly about the room. “You are tired, and so is your husband. But you do not wish to be _too_ tired—not on your wedding night.”

I blushed, and laughed.

“Don’t be silly,” I said, even though her words already had me feeling slightly giddy in anticipation. “We’ve been sharing the same bed for a year now!”

She smiled that indulgent little smile of hers.

“Yes, but a wedding night is special. I’m sure come morning you’ll agree.”

“You’ve waited a long time for your own wedding night,” I said, trying my best to talk around the intense blush her words kept igniting just beneath the surface of my skin.

“Soon,” she said, her smile turning faintly crooked. “We thought it best to wait until the king had married. It would not have been proper otherwise.”

“I’m sorry you’ve both had to wait so long on our account,” I said, feeling genuinely ashamed, even though I could hardly have bullied the king into marrying me any earlier.

She laughed. “It was no great burden. I suspect the wait was harder on the two of you.” She tilted her head, giving me a thoughtful look. “Ania believes you know full well the influence you’ve had over her uncle, but I suspect otherwise.”

“Influence?” I asked, frowning, which I suppose proved her right.

“Everyone can see it, but I am not surprised you are the only one who cannot. I suppose that’s part of your charm—your inability to see your own strengths.”

“You sound like _him_ ,” I said, groaning.

“You bring him calm,” she said, as if I hadn’t spoken. “You bring him peace, reflection—love. For your sake only does he temper his words and actions. The fate of every hold in Skyrim hangs on your beseeching look, the whisper of your words into his ear, or the touch of your hand on his knee.”

“I don’t know about that,” I said, naturally feeling quite embarrassed, but unable to not reflect on all the times I’d done exactly that these past few weeks.

“Very well,” she said, amused. “Retain your innocence. He will only love you all the more for it.”

The music ended, and she leaned in, whispering playfully: “Go to him.”

I did so, feeling, as I left her, that I could well understand Ania falling for such a woman.

I found my husband standing, not surprisingly, beside Galmar, though they had not been together all night. I took this to mean that he was past his usual tolerance level when it came to social gatherings, and that the constant flow of well-wishers now knew better than to accost him with their false niceties. His expression, however, did seem to relax when he saw me approaching, and I noticed Galmar arch a brow at me and give me a faint nod before he separated himself from the two of us.

“You’ve had your fill of dancing,” he said, not objecting when I took his hand and leaned up onto my toes as far as I could to kiss his cheek—even so, he had to lean down, ever so slightly.

“Enough to last a lifetime,” I teased, for I knew he was only being grumpy. And I paused in that moment, and thought of what Hellina had said—not about the oh so serious stuff, about me and my influence over him—but about wedding nights, and how we oughtn’t to let ourselves grow too tired before—

I felt simultaneously amused and bashful. Could _this_ be the source of his grumpiness?

Feeling bold, I leaned up again, cupping my hand—the universal sign for him to lean obligingly down so I could reach his ear—and whispered: “Do you want to go to bed?”

His eyes met mine, his mouth parting ever so slightly, a faint flush creeping under his beard—it was not, I knew, a flush of embarrassment.

He squeezed my hand in his, then shifted to put his arm around me. We were already on the outskirts of the hall, so it shouldn’t have been too hard to make our way quietly from the room. But we _were_ the guests of honor, so to speak, and of course as soon as people saw us holding hands and appearing to try and slink out of the room, the dancing stopped, and cheers, applause, and even a whistle or two filled the room.

I’m sure I was blushing all the way up to the tips of my ears. The king looked torn between annoyance and amusement. He shifted his hold until his hand rest in its usual place behind my neck, and we continued walking as if nothing had happened.

The sounds of the feast began to fade as we made our why quietly down the hall together. The weight of his hand on my neck began to feel almost heavy, and I felt a flush of warmth creeping up my body as we made our way up the stairs and towards my room. My heart was already pounding behind my ribs as we passed the guard on duty there.

As soon as the door closed, we were in each other’s arms. I kicked my boots off blindly as we kissed, so I could loop my arms around his neck and lift myself up, wrapping my legs around his waist. He groaned, and seemed at first incapable of doing anything besides pressing me up against the wall and kissing me as we both fumbled with one another’s clothing.

But soon he was carrying me towards the bed, and we were already half-naked by the time we both fell back against the mattress. Our kisses were deep, passionate, and frantic now, the heat of our soon naked bodies pressing together. He fumbled for the flask of oil by the bedside—this was going to be quick, and I knew it was what we both desired, what we both needed.

For once I didn’t seem to care who might hear us as we made love. I moaned and cried and begged him to fuck me, so he did. Our mutual release was exquisite; he collapsed beside me, both of us panting hard. I realized after a moment that I still had the circlet on, though it was crooked and thoroughly mussed and tangled in my hair. My lover turned his head and looked at me, and gave a gentle, breathy laugh. He reached up, pulling the circlet carefully off, and leaning over me briefly to place it on the nightstand.

I hugged him, impulsively, draping myself half atop him and burying my smiling face into his neck. I felt his arms go around me, fingertips running lightly up my warm back. We were a bit of a mess, all sticky and still panting hot, but I didn’t really care. I lifted my head, found his lips again, and kissed him ardently.

The kiss turned languid, and he turned, wrapping an arm around me as he shifted our positions. _I_ could probably go again, but I knew he couldn’t, not right away. But I was happy to simply lie in his arms and enjoy the peppery touch of his kisses all over my face and down my neck.

He sighed after a while, pulling me more closely against him, and just gently rubbing his nose against the side of my face.

“My heart,” he murmured, sounding so sleepy and sated.

“My husband,” I teased back, and he chuckled, the husky sound rumbling through his chest.

“You will wear out the word,” he said.

“Just as I’ve worn you out?”

I received a playful smack to the rear which I clearly deserved.

He suggested a bath then, though it was some time before we could summon the energy and fortitude to make our way to the wash room. And of course it was impossible to do so without holding hands and touching and kissing the entire way there. Once the water was poured, we languished in the tub together until the water grew lukewarm at best. Then we negated the entire experience by returning to the bed and making love all over again.

The first rays of the sun were just peaking over the horizon by the time we both finally fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The change in rating from "T" to "M" isn't meant to indicate that the tone of this story will change in any way; I just felt the final love scene in this chapter went a little beyond "T" and wanted to make sure I used the appropriate rating :D
> 
> FYI: Chapter 1 of Part 3 is finally completed, and I must say, it's interesting writing a more mature Casien, but then, everyone else is five years older, too, which is quite fun to explore! (I think realizing Nella Stone-Fist is now 18 was the biggest "oh wow" moment lmao)


	24. Epilogue

We ended up staying three more days in Whiterun. I had anticipated being expected to attend many of the meetings that took place between the jarls, but for the most part, Ulfric and I spent the days apart. I did sit in on a meeting between my husband and Korir and his wife, for it involved how Skyrim should continue to conduct trade with the college, if goods should be taxed differently, and if the college could still claim the small port at the base of the mountain as their own. I also attended a meeting with Jarl Laila and her sons, as did Ania. I believe it was meant to be more educational for the two of us than anything. It was tedious but fascinating to watch the two jarls verbally maneuver around one another, each seeking more than the other was willing to give. Laila was, unsurprisingly, an astute stateswoman, but Ulfric was no fool. I think, for the most part, both parted feeling satisfied they had gotten much of what they wanted while simultaneously preventing the other from getting everything _they_ wanted.

But for the most part, I was able to spend what little time I had left with my friends. Ysme, Hanna, and Torbin even took us out to explore the surrounding countryside one afternoon. I was no great fan of the outdoors in general, but it was nice to see the many varieties of plants and flowers the region boasted, as well as the birds and other wildlife. Ysme even refrained from bringing anything down with her bow, which I thought was kind of her. I had no problem eating meat, but I still didn’t like the thought of watching an animal suffer. I may have grown up on a farm, but my family had been crop farmers, and about the only livestock we’d kept had been a rather copious number of chickens, along with a handful of family cows and the occasional pig—and luckily I’d never had anything to do with preparing and bringing any of them to market.

At last the morning of our departure arrived.

Breakfast was a hurried affair, for the king wished to leave as early as possible. I packed my own things, even though I was told to let the servants do it. Then I helped the servants pack my husband’s things, for it seemed to me they were going about it rather haphazardly. In the end, I had made so many purchases in Whiterun I had to confiscate a third trunk. I was glad the king had already descended downstairs to the yard before learning of this.

Eleanor and Brelyna met me at the door to our room.

“I wish we could travel with you,” said Brelyna, as we three walked out together, a few of the burlier servants trailing behind us and lugging the trunks.

“It’s these ridiculous rivalries between all the jarls,” said Eleanor, rolling her eyes. “They couldn’t _stand_ to travel together because there can only be one ‘king of the caravan,’ so to speak. And then, of course, nobody _else_ could leave until _your_ king left, as it apparently wouldn’t have been proper.”

I snorted.

“Nords,” I said, meeting her eyes and rolling my own back at her.

“Insufferable, ego-driven lummoxes, the lot of them,” she agreed.

Brelyna blinked.

“But aren’t you both…?”

Eleanor and I exchanged one more look before we both burst out laughing. I sighed, and put my arm around Brelyna, giving her a playful squeeze.

“…Romantically involved with an insufferable, ego-driven lummox of a Nord?” I said, grinning. “Yep. It’s a burden, but _somebody_ has to do it.”

“For the good of Skyrim,” said Eleanor, nodding with false solemnity.

Brelyna giggled, finally picking up on how silly we were being, and soon we were all three laughing again. I’m sure there was a bit of wistful feeling in the air, for we knew we were about to be separated again, and who knew how long it would be before we saw one another again.

 _For the good of Skyrim_ , indeed. I was still getting used to being the husband of the High King of my adopted country. Servants paused to bow or nod as we passed; guards stood at attention and saluted. The well-to-do people, whether they hailed from here in Whiterun or from other holds, saw us and stopped to wish us— _me_ in particular—a good morning, as well as a safe journey. I could only smile and nod and sometimes thank them, and try not to let my expression reflect what I was feeling inside. At least the servants and guards were sincere; they bowed or saluted because it was part of their job, and they well knew that if they wanted to keep their position, they were expected to show people of rank the proper deference. It was bizarre, having that deference reflected towards _me_ , but I had been one of their number not too long ago, so I understood. But the rich people, the so-called ‘nobles’—all they wanted was ensured access to someone they perceived to be a person of import, and it never ceased to grate on my nerves.

“You look like you’re going to snap in two!” said Brelyna, once we finally stepped outside into the fresh spring air.

“Or maybe snap someone else in two,” said Eleanor, giving me a wry look.

I smiled weakly back.

“It’s not so bad in Windhelm,” I admitted, as we began to descend the steps down from Dragonsreach. “Everyone knows me there, and people aren’t so formal.”

“That might change now that you’re married,” said Eleanor. “After all, wouldn’t want to anger the jarl by disrespecting his new husband.”

I frowned, but she was probably right. Still… much as I hated to leave her and Brelyna behind, I was anxious to return home. I actually _missed Windhelm_. I missed the palace, and the people who lived there, Lia and the girls, the soldiers, the kitchen, the gardens, the city… our apartment, and our bedroom. _Our place_.

I wondered how much my day-to-day life in the palace would change, now that I was married. Probably more than I would like, but not enough to be unbearable. It was only fair that I do my part, after all, however minuscule that part might be.

The courtyard below was filled with saddled horses and carts, soldiers and servants running back and forth. I spotted Galmar and the king, the pair of them towering over so many of the others. They were speaking to Jon and Olfina, who naturally had come down to see us all off. All four looked up as we approached—well, I say “we,” but my two friends hung back a little as I made my way towards my husband.

Our eyes met, and I watched the little smile come to his face, no doubt unconsciously. He had seemed unusually relaxed these past few days, and I wasn’t so full of myself to think that I truly could be the reason, but, well.

“You finally decided to join us,” he said, resting a hand between my shoulders. His fingers twitched a little, tickling my skin, and I gave him a look, knowing he was trying to make me squirm.

“I’m married to the king now,” I said, haughtily brushing his hand aside. “I depart whenever I please.”

Galmar _harrumphed_ under his breath, which I think was his version of a laugh. Jon and Olfina didn’t hold back, laughing and beaming at me with friendly affection.

“We’re going to miss you, _Lord_ Casien,” she said.

“And we’ll miss you, _Jarl_ Olfina,” I teased back.

She laughed, and actually deigned to embrace me—I supposed I could count her among my friends now, though it was strange to think of her like that. She was so beautiful, and such a highborn, respected lady. I didn’t normally befriend such people, for I don’t know what I could possibly have in common with someone so far above me in life. But it turns out that when it comes down to it, we’re all just _people_ after all.

Finally, preparations for our journey home were complete, and it was time for us to leave. I hugged Brelyna and Eleanor one last time. I hugged Hanna, too, though she looked rather bemused by it. I watched as she and Ysme bid one another good-bye—by playfully insulting one another, of course. Meanwhile, I caught sight of Brelyna whispering something to Torbin and leaning up on her toes to plant a kiss on his cheek, causing his entire face to blossom bright red.

I blinked.

“When did _that_ happen?” I asked.

Beside me, Hanna only smirked.

My old gray gelding was brought forward, and the king helped me mount. He then mounted his own horse, who stomped her hoofs and tossed her head, chaffing at the bit, for she clearly hadn’t enjoyed being so little ridden of late. I turned to wave at my friends one more time. Ulfric clucked his tongue a few times, gently grasping my horse’s bridle and urging him to trot out alongside his own.

We were off. Galmar, his daughters, and Hellina fell in behind us, and behind them, the Stormcloak soldiers, including Ysme and Torbin, and behind _them_ the wagons. It was still very early, the sun just peaking over the distant mountains, so the streets were fairly empty. Even so, early risers paused to watch us ride past. Children holding onto their mother’s skirt or their father’s tunic with one hand waved at us with the other. I was probably the only one who waved back.

“You will miss this place,” said the king, a faint smile on his face as he watched me.

I shrugged.

“I guess so. I’ll miss the warm weather, that’s for certain. And my friends. But…”

He arched a brow.

“But?”

I smiled.

“But Windhelm is home. And I can’t _wait_ to go home.”

He laughed, causing many of the townspeople to look back at us in surprise.

“Neither can I, little roebuck,” he said, his sky blue eyes twinkling merrily, enough to draw a smile from me as well. “Neither can I.”

//

It was a two day hike up the side of the mountain.

Three soldiers accompanied us the first day. They remained now at the impromptu camp while the king and I slowly made our way up the final part of the path. It was cold, so high up, and I pulled my furred cloak closer around my shoulders. I paused where I stood, gazing down at the plains far below. I could see the road snaking, cutting through the fields. Our camp was a mere dot against the golden plains.

Ahead of me, the king paused and looked behind him, some sixth sense perhaps telling him that I had paused as well. He smiled and offered me his hand; I took it, for though we had been taking the steps slowly and steadily, I was tired, and the way was steep. And I liked to hold my husband’s hand, even though we both wore gloves to protect our fingers from the cold.

We reached the top, the stone path opening onto a lovely sort of courtyard. Even at this height, sturdy ornamental trees and flowers lined the garden area, where priests and priestesses bent to tend to them. Supplicants wandered about, sat on the benches, speaking lowly to one another, or knelt in prayer before the small stone shrines. Beyond the courtyard was a large, stone building, and beyond that—a massive statue, so tall she could be seen from miles and miles away.

Most of the people, both priests and priestesses as well as laypersons, were Dunmer, but not all. The woman who approached us was Khajiit.

“Azura’s grace be with you,” she said, smiling and bowing her head ever so slightly. “How may this one help you?”

I glanced at my husband, but he only stood silently beside me, evidently waiting for me to speak.

I looked at the priestess again.

“I’ve come to visit the shrine.”

//

 

* * *

 

Thank you everyone for reading Part 2 of Casien's story!! Goodness, what a journey! It seems like all may finally be well for our boy and his king, but I suppose we'll have to see what Part 3 has in store for us. 

Now, while you're here, why don't you go ahead and bookmark [Part 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18623044)?!

Chapters 1 and 2 are already written, and Chapter 3 is on its way. I like to stay two chapters ahead before posting the next (it gives me time to edit away any accidental plot holes and character discrepancies. Gotta catch 'em all!! Which I don't, I'm sure.). 

Now I'm sure some of you have heard that Part 3 is going to be a bit of a ride. We've jumped forward approximately five years into the future, and  _of course_ we can't just let these two enjoy their Happily Ever After. But you'll notice the tag "Angst with a Happy Ending," which is my eternal promise to you, dear readers, that as dark as things may sometimes get, there will always be light, relief, happiness, and love at the end of the tunnel. Fear not!


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